


Kiss Me, Don't Kill Me

by elrhiarhodan, voxangelus



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Assassin merlin, Crossover with James Bond (for Olivia Mansfield | M), Crossover with MI-5/Spooks (for Harry Pearce), Dogwalker Eggsy, Gun Violence, M/M, OT3, Original Kingsman Characters - Freeform, Violence, bookstore owner harry, knife injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-03
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 22:09:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13556574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elrhiarhodan/pseuds/elrhiarhodan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxangelus/pseuds/voxangelus
Summary: Harry Hart just wanted to live a quiet, post-Army life. No more security clearances and not-quite-black-ops. Just his bookshop, his dog, his butterfly collection, and his... friendship with his dog-walker and part-time bookshop employee, Eggsy.Merlin liked his personal life to be uncomplicated. He had enough clandestine nonsense with his job. But occurrences surrounding his dog-walker, Eggsy, were going to prove to make it very complicated.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Kingsman Fic Wars entry! voxangelus is writing Bookshop AU (odd chapters), and elrhiarhodan is writing Assassin AU (even chapters).
> 
> **STATUS: COMPLETED**

On a quiet side street in London there was a bookshop. Not a large bookshop, full of hustle and bustle and new releases, or even a middling-sized one with a coffee bar - but a small bookshop, full of dust and sunbeams and worn-in comfy chairs. A bookshop that said ‘come in and stay for a while’. One that people jealously guarded the knowledge of, only imparting the location to friends they felt could absolutely be trusted to appreciate the quirks of the space and its proprietor. 

Its proprietor, one Harry Hart; who was currently (constantly) running late. 

Now, the listed opening hours for the shop were clearly painted on the door - ‘mid-morning’. He knew himself better than to list an absolute time. But he had an employee who was meant to come in and have things open no later than nine-thirty, and that system worked well. Usually. 

Today, apparently was not usual, as it was ten-fifteen, and Harry was standing in front of a dark, locked bookshop. Still, he wasn’t angry, just concerned as to what might have kept said employee from his duties this morning. His phone hadn’t gone off all morning, but upon checking it, he’d still had it on silent from overnight and there were three missed texts and two missed calls. Of course. 

[8:13 AM] Missed Call from Eggsy Unwin  
[8:14 AM] Voicemail from Eggsy Unwin  
[8:15 AM] one of my dog-walking clients got called out of town. i’ll be late! sry!  
[9:02 AM] Ur still sleeping, arent u? Or left ur phone on silent?  
[9:34 AM] Missed call from Eggsy Unwin  
[9:37 AM] I’ll be there by ten-thirty. Check ur phone, Haz!

Nothing to be done for it, then. Eggsy had done his due diligence although Harry was a bit peeved at this other client who apparently did things last-minute. Eggsy had several other side jobs that allowed for a flexible schedule. Harry had met Eggsy when he’d hired him to look after his cairn terrier, Mr Pickle, when he had gone on holiday a couple of years ago and liked having him around so much he’d hired him on for the shop when his previous employee had finished her undergrad and gone off to Glasgow to do her graduate work. 

Between Harry and himself, Eggsy was far more easy going than Grace had been, and that suited him far better. Harry had spent twenty-four years in the army, the last five years of that doing not-quite-black-ops, but things that could be considered questionably shady - he was absolutely adamant that his ‘retirement’ be as relaxing as possible.

Mr Pickle, for his part, was currently pawing at the door and looking up at Harry as if wondering why they were still standing on the pavement instead of going inside. Shaking himself from his thoughts, he unlocked the shop and flipped the sign before unclipping Mr Pickle’s leash and letting him go to have free reign of the bookshop. He’d had a few patrons in who were dismayed at a bookshop _dog_ as opposed to a bookshop _cat_ , but Mr Pickle was such a good greeter and friendly little fellow that most of them got past their misgivings quickly. 

He busied himself with his usual morning chores after making sure the lights were on, leaving everything that Eggsy usually did for him when he arrived except for fetching the cash drawer from the safe. Not that Harry expected any patrons that morning - his afternoons and evenings were usually the busier times, but it was nearing the holiday season and that often changed the usual expectations. There was a pile of used books he’d taken in trade the evening before to catalogue and shelve for sale, and that would keep him busy for a little while. Some were lovely editions of classics, but the balance were gently loved YA and children’s titles that the patron had been happy to trade in equivalents for things her children hadn’t yet read. There was a decent subset of patrons who were similar, and it was always nice to see them when they came in over the past decade that he’d owned the shop. 

The bookshop didn’t do a heavy business, but it kept itself in the black as far as expenses went. Harry hadn’t opened a bookshop to make money, anyway - he didn’t need it with what he’d inherited - but because he loved books and liked people who loved books. He could keep a schedule he liked, in a low-pressure environment with time for his hobbies, and his life was almost perfect. Oh, he supposed he could do with some companionship other than his dog and Eggsy, but he didn’t hold out much hope at 55 to meet anything like a life partner. 

Besides, most people found his main hobby to be a little disturbing. It was true that lepidoptery wasn’t for everyone, but he found it satisfying. Eggsy didn’t seem to mind it, although his reaction when he first came to meet Mr Pickle at Harry’s house had been comical. “You a serial killer then?” he’d asked, conversationally, seeing the cases of mounted butterflies adorning his walls. Casual as you please, no fear or real concern that Harry was planning anything untoward. Harry had been delighted, and Eggsy had been a fixture in his life since then. It was a relationship he didn’t examine too closely. 

True to his word, Eggsy came in with a gust of snowflakes at ten-thirty, rosy-cheeked from the cold and grinning as usual. Yes, Harry was inordinately fond of the young man, but in what manner he hadn’t really permitted himself to explore. At 23, Eggsy was far too young for him, anyway. 

“Kettle’s just boiled,” he said by way of greeting, nodding at the counter behind the register where the tea and coffee things were kept. “And yes, I had my phone on silent. I was utterly confused when I got here fifteen minutes ago.” 

Eggsy snorted, crouching down to pet Mr Pickle, who had heard the door and was begging for attention. 

“Tea! You’re the guv. You really gotta just put it on vibrate, Haz,” he said, straightening up and pulling his winter gear off, fixing his hair where his beanie had pulled it in all directions, Mr Pickle following in his wake. “Sorry about the short notice, yeah? Bloke does some kind of international business and it’s almost always short notice with ‘im, but he overpays by 200 percent. And won’t take none of it back, neither. You’d like his house. Bookshelves as far as the eye can see. Pretty sure his dogs might eat Mr Pickle for breakfast, though. Not that they’re mean - proper sweethearts they are, to their people - they’re just enormous.” He went past Harry to make a cuppa. 

Harry couldn’t help but chuckle at Eggsy’s final comment as he turned around and leaned against the counter to talk to him. He did, of course, appreciate people who had a home full of books. And perhaps that raised his opinion of this particular client by a notch or two, even if his dogs were, apparently, massive and he did things last-minute. “I’ll try to remember about the phone. And it’s no trouble, you know that Tuesday mornings are usually slow. We’ll have a small delivery in about an hour, but that’s the only real work to be done today.”

“Cheers. I’ll take care of my opening chores, then, and do the dusting and vacuuming. See if anything needs organizing in the back, too,” Eggsy replied as he leaned next to Harry at the counter, finally having got his mitts around a hot mug of tea. 

“That would be lovely. I’ve trades to price and catalogue, including a nice stack of children’s titles that Daisy might enjoy. I’ll set them aside for you to look at later,” Harry said, angling his head at the books on the counter.

Eggsy grinned and nudged his shoulder. “Ta, Haz. She’ll be happy to have some new things to read. Mum says she’s going through them so fast these days, might be time to start her on some more difficult stuff than picture books.”

“She loves picture books! I love picture books, for that matter. Just sneak a few other things in the pile for her along with them,” suggested Harry. “You’re never too old for picture books.” 

“I’m not gonna have mum sweep her room and toss them out or anything, just add some other stuff. So, you gotta help me find books she’ll like that won’t be too annoying for mum to help her with,” Eggsy said, turning his best puppy-dog look on Harry. 

Fuck that look with a bloody chainsaw. Harry _hated_ that look. 

No, the problem was he loved that look far too much. And he wasn’t about to spend the morning considering why. That way lay madness. 

“Oh, very well. But later, hmm? After we finish putting away the delivery.” Harry was already considering what might work well for a girl of six. Daisy used to come with Eggsy on Saturdays and Harry missed having her about. She was clever and funny, not unlike her older brother, and kept Mr Pickle out of trouble. More than once he or Eggsy had found them both curled up in one of the armchairs that were scattered about the shop, fast asleep over a book. After the first time, Harry had taken to keeping a throw blanket on that particular chair - and jammie dodgers and cocoa in the cupboard. Eggsy's mum and sister had moved north about six months previous for his mum’s job, but Harry still kept the extras about. Just in case.

He didn’t automatically like all children. As a shopkeeper, he’d met some bloody awful ones - but Daisy, who had proven herself to be well-behaved if occasionally boisterous, had wormed her way right into his affections. 

“Right! Chores, then, so things are clear for the delivery,” Eggsy agreed, shoving off the counter and heading out into the shop. “Come on, Mr Pickle - wanna play with crinkly paper, boy? Let’s go play with crinkly paper and I’ll get you a cookie!”

Watching Mr Pickle gambol after Eggsy, Harry sat down on the tall stool he kept behind the counter and sighed, contented, as he began to sort through the stack of traded-in titles. He’d paid out a decent amount for the fair number of first editions of well-known books in excellent condition. He had a few patrons who would be very interested, and he marked the prices accordingly. The children’s books he set aside as promised for Eggsy to look through.

The rest of the day was business as usual for a Tuesday. Eggsy departed around three after they’d put the day’s delivery away and he’d picked out a stack of books to send to Daisy, and Harry lingered until eight in a busier than usual shop. He blamed the upcoming winter holiday season for the uptick. Perhaps it was time to decorate at the weekend. Eggsy would have fun with it. Harry knew he was going to end up bickering with him just like every year about how many paper snowflakes was too many to hang over the counter.

He was going to have a blizzard of paper snowflakes. He was terrible at saying no to Eggsy. 

It was going to be lovely.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin gets home from a long assignment. All he wants to do is unwind and cuddle with his dogs. Unfortunately, fate has other plans for him.

Merlin has been perched on the roof of Rio office tower for the better part of three days, waiting for the exactly right moment to do his job. Right now, at this moment, the wind is perfect, the sun behind him, and his target has finally made an appearance, strutting around on his hotel balcony in a tiny Speedo and a white towel robe. No bodyguards in sight.

_Not a good look, Oleg, especially with the pot belly covered in more hair than my dogs have on theirs._

Merlin takes a breath and pulls the trigger. The target goes down.

_And a bullet in the head doesn't improve matters._

Merlin watches the balcony and the only movement comes from the sheer white curtain wafting in the breeze. A few minutes later, Oleg's companion for the afternoon, a woman Merlin knows only as Angelina, steps out on the balcony and nudges the body with her foot. Oleg doesn't move and Angelina disappears back into the room. She'll be gone before Merlin gets back to the street.

Satisfied that his job is done, Merlin disassembles his rifle and packs it away, he checks the rooftop for anything he might have inadvertently left behind, and before he leaves his perch, he sprays down the whole area with a bleach solution. Typical actions that are as second nature to him as brushing his teeth and making sure he always has a spare handkerchief. 

An hour later, Merlin's boarding a private jet that will take him home. It's not a perquisite of the job but a necessity; he cannot take his precious rifle onto a commercial flight and he's certainly not putting it into baggage. Nor is he leaving it behind. His clients know this when they request his services and the price is adjusted accordingly. When you want a shooter that can do what Merlin does, you pay for it.

Once the plane crosses over into international waters, Merlin opens a secure channel to his client.

_"It's done?"_

Merlin sips his scotch and answers, "If housekeeping is thorough, they'll find the body when they come to clean the room in a couple of hours. He'd given his bodyguards the boot after making the appointment with Angelina. They're not due back until tonight."

_"Good work. The balance of your payment will be in your account within the hour."_

Merlin lets himself smile. "Always a pleasure doing business with you."

_"We'll be in touch."_ His client's representative, a stern-faced, white-haired woman, ends the transmission. 

Merlin leans back, enjoying the well-padded leather seat, and smiles. Olivia Mansfield is a hard-ass, but she's one of the few bureaucrats that Merlin respects, which is why MI-6 is his most regular customer. 

He finishes his scotch and closes his eyes. It'll twelve hours before they land in London and the hard work of the last three weeks is catching up with him.

The movies get it all wrong. They never show the effort that goes into making a successful kill – the days and weeks, even months, of patient observation. He doesn’t just get a file and a day later, pulls a trigger – at least not for the kind of work he does - long-range kills that often go undiscovered for hours, if not days. 

There are certainly hitters out there who do the drive-bys, the up-close double-taps, the throat-slitting, that make headlines in the news. But not Merlin. Someone once called him an artist of death, but that's about as inaccurate as you could get. Merlin's likes to compare himself to an accountant, making sure everything lines up perfectly, that all the research is done, that every possible variable has been _accounted_ for. Artists want their work recognized, Merlin prefers to remain anonymous. 

And the only way to ensure that happens is to do research, to be patient, to say focused. Which is why he turns down five times as many jobs as he accepts. It's also why a hit like today's, the elimination of a Russian petroleum prince who has - _had_ \- enough power to influence relations between his own country and Brazil, took three months of planning and two weeks to execute. And why the British Secret Service just paid him a hefty seven-figure fee.

Merlin occasionally wonders how MI6 accounts for contractor payments, what line items hides "assassination fee". Is his work an operational expense or does it come from some rainy-day fund? It's an interesting question, but one that really doesn't keep him up at night. He pays his taxes, like every other citizen, if just so Her Majesty's Secret Service can't alert Her Majesty's Inland Revenue Service in an effort to make his life a living nightmare if he fucks up.

Not that Merlin's ever fucked up. He's been doing this for twenty-seven years and in that time, he's only missed two targets. With ten kills a year, that's a pretty decent winning percentage, if he must say so himself.

With that thought, Merlin slips into a light doze and dreams of nothing he remembers on waking.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

A little after four, the next afternoon, Merlin's plane lands at the London City Airport, on time despite the falling snow. The quick customs and immigration processing and the short commute are worth the extra fees. Not that Merlin's heading home; at least not before he cleans his rifle, and puts it and the extra ammunition into secure storage. His office is in a small, nondescript building in the Docklands area, a two-story warehouse tucked between a Boots and an art gallery. He'd bought the place almost two decades ago, just as the price of real estate in the area had started to skyrocket.

Merlin supposes that if everything else in his life goes tits up, he could sell this place for a mint - it's one of the few buildings left that has drive-in access. Over the years, he's updated the facade so it fits in with the neighborhood, and the security - quite naturally - is state-of-the-art. 

But for all money and effort he's put into the place, he doesn't really spend time here. It's an armory, that's it. A place to keep and maintain the tools of his trade, a few vehicles, a redundant site for data backup. Things he doesn't want in his home.

An hour after he arrives, his rifle is cleaned, disassembled, and locked away. So are his handguns and the other small armaments he carries for work. Everything except for the long knife he keeps in a shoulder blade scabbard and a pair of throwing knives strapped to his wrists. Merlin may respect the laws regarding private citizens and guns, but he'll be damned if he's ever completely disarmed. 

The car he'd left in long-term storage at the airport is now left behind again. Merlin prefers something a little more adventurous for traveling around town, a Ducati Diavel. The bike's a sweet cruiser that's not as much work as a racer for getting through London traffic. 

Even still, it takes Merlin about a half-hour to get from the Docklands to his townhouse in Kensington - the snowfall is making a mess of the roads and he'd rather not crash the bike. By the time he parks the black beast at the curb and secured an all-weather cover on it, he's more than looking forward to walking through the front door and getting an enthusiastic greeting from Flora and Charlie, his pair of Scottish deerhounds.

Some people might think it's sad that the only living things Merlin cares about are his dogs, and the only person that Merlin can say he genuinely likes is his young and pretty dog walker, Eggsy Unwin. At fifty-three, Merlin's a man with no attachments, no spouse or partner, and thank god, no children. He has his dogs, his hobbies, and a mostly undemanding career that pays well and gives him a high degree of personal satisfaction. What more could a man want from life?

He opens the door and all thoughts of emotional satisfaction are driven out when he realizes that his alarm system is disengaged and neither of his dogs have come to greet him. There's also a faint tang of iron in the air - blood. Merlin freezes, listens for the sound of an intruder but hears nothing. He carefully puts his helmet down and draws the long knife - practically a sword - from the scabbard between his shoulder blades and follows the scent of blood to the back of the house, towards the kitchen. 

Two pair of eyes are glowing green in the dim light shed by the appliances - Flora and Charlie are standing guard over a body prone on the floor. They see him and whimper, but they don't move. Merlin takes a calculated risk and turns on the light. No one comes rushing out at him and Merlin looks at his unexpected and rather unwelcome guest. 

He recognizes him - it's his dog minder, Eggsy. And the front of his shirt, from collar to belt line, is drenched in blood.

Merlin sheaths the blade, shoos the dogs away with a gesture, and falls to his knees. He checks the lad's pulse and lets out a tiny sigh of relief. Eggsy's alive and despite the amount of blood staining his shirt, his pulse is strong. He lifts up Eggsy's shirt and winces. Eggsy's belly and ribcage have been sliced to ribbons – all shallow cuts designed to give the maximum amount of pain without causing lethal damage. 

He taps Eggsy's cheek, to try to wake the lad up. "Eggsy, come on, lad. Open your eyes for me."

Eggsy moans, but he doesn't rouse. Merlin makes a decision and scoops Eggsy up in his arms, depositing him on the island that dominates the kitchen workspace. "Ooof, lad, ye'r a lot heavier than ye look."

Eggsy finally wakes up and starts to struggle. "What – what's happening?"

"Take it easy, lad. Ye'r safe. Let's get ye fixed up."

That seems to calm Eggsy and he relaxes, sliding back into unconsciousness. 

Merlin wants to question his unexpected guest, but he puts that desire aside and tends to the lad's wounds. He cuts Eggsy's shirt open, to give him better access; thankfully, he keeps a well-stocked medical kit in the kitchen and puts it to good use. Most of the wounds on Eggsy's torso are shallow slices. They've stopped bleeding and won't need anything as drastic as sutures; betadine and steri-strips will do for those. But there's one vicious one, the wound responsible for most of the blood. It looks like someone's taken a long, thin blade and slid it between the layers of skin and muscle, as if in preparation for flensing.

Merlin flushes the wound clean and worries; this is beyond his own limited medical skills. It's still bleeding, but sluggishly, and Merlin dresses it with care. If necessary, he'll call in a favor or two from some medical professions – including Flora and Charlie's veterinarian, if he has to.

Eggsy moans and it seems that he's finally rousing for good. "What's going on?" He tries to sit up.

Merlin keeps him prone, "Take it easy, lad. Ye'll fall if ye'r not careful."

"Merlin?" Eggsy sounds panicky.

"Who were ye expecting? Here, in my house."

Eggsy struggles. "I'm sorry – I just needed someplace safe. I made sure I wasn't followed. Didn't think you'd be home yet."

"Relax, lad. It's all right." He lets Eggsy sit up and then helps him off the island and into a chair. "Tell me what happened to ye. Who did this?"

Eggsy doesn't answer and he looks far too stubborn for Merlin's peace of mind.

"Who are ye protecting?"

The lad shakes his head. "I don't grass."

Merlin tries to keep his temper. "I'm not the Fed. What you tell me goes nowhere."

Eggsy makes to get up, a hand over his belly. "I shouldn't have come here."

It takes no effort to push Eggsy back into the chair. "No, ye probably shouldn't have. I'm not fond of trouble showing up at my door, but ye'r here and ye'r my responsibility now."

"Then let me go. I'll get out of your hair." Eggsy puts a bit too much emphasis on that last word.

"I save yer life and ye make bald jokes? Not very nice of ye, laddie."

Eggsy pushes against him, but it's like holding down a two day old puppy. "Where are ye planning on going? Out into the streets looking like that? Still bleeding? Ye have a death wish?"

Eggsy struggles a bit more and gives up. "I'm sorry. But look – I wasn't thinking. I don't want you to have to deal with my problems."

"Ye already bled all over my floor."

"I'll make it up to you. Two weeks of free dog walking, just let me go." Eggsy sounds urgent now. "I've got to get out of here."

"No can do, Eggsy." 

"Please." Eggsy is near tears.

"Lad, tell me who did this to you."

"You don't need to get caught up in my mess, Merlin."

Merlin should probably take Eggsy's advice and let him go. He's built a life he likes, one with few attachments. But Eggsy happens to be one of those few attachments and Merlin will be damned if he lets the lad walk out the door and head to his death. "Talk to me. Please."

He can see Eggsy struggling. 

"Look, I'm a man who can take care of myself. Especially against people who play with knives." He flicks his right wrist and a blade pops out. He repeats the gesture with the left and hands the knives to Eggsy, "Hold these and don't cut yerself." He stands up and unsheathes the long dagger from his shoulder harness. "So, ye see - I can protect myself just fine."

"You're some kind of professional badass?" Eggsy actually laughs and then winces. 

"Ye might say that." Merlin re-sheathes the blade and takes the daggers back from Eggsy. He's not going to tell the lad he kills people for money, but there are partial truths he's willing to provide. "You tell me who did this to you, and I'll answer that question you're dying to ask."

Eggsy closes his eyes and rests his head against the back of the chair. With all the wounds on his torso, the lad looks like a modern version of Ruben's _Martyrdom of St. Sebastian_. Merlin shakes his head at the ridiculousness of that thought.

Eggsy makes his decision and looks at Merlin, his face drawn into lines that make the lad look far too old for his years. "All right. But I'm not telling you because of some quid pro quo or anything. You don't have to tell me anything that I'd be better off not knowing."

"Fair enough."

"My dad died when I was little and my mum didn't do so well afterwards. She couldn't stand being alone, without a man, and she had a bunch of relationships with guys who weren't so good to her."

Merlin has to imagine that those men hadn't been so good to Eggsy, either.

"When I was about fifteen or so, she met this guy, Dean. He was all kinds of sweet to her, always taking care of her, paying the rent, putting food on the table, giving me stuff. I didn't trust him, though. There was something in his eyes that creeped me out. He'd look at me and I'd feel dirty. But I keep my mouth shut because for the first time in a long time, my mum seems happy. He wants to marry her and she's over the moon."

Eggsy shakes his hand and frowns. "Dean moves in and things stay sweet for a while. And then the shouting starts, followed by the smacking around. Then Dean's dogs - his human dogs - start taking up residence in our place. They bring in all their filth - the stuff that 'falls' off the back of some truck, the drugs. But you see, my mum won't leave him. Even when Dean's dogs put their filthy hands on her."

Merlin swallows against his own rising anger.

"I can't do much and once I finish high school, Dean tells me that if I'm not running his shit for him, I'm going to be selling my ass on Smith Street or I'm out on the streets, never mind that my dad's insurance money pays for the apartment. I tried escaping into the Marines, but when I was six months into my training, my mum started calling my CO and begging them to let me come home. Turns out she's pregnant and Dean wants her to get rid of the kid - says it ain't his - and unless I come home and earn my keep, he's going to take matters into his own hands."

The rage keeps building inside Merlin. He knows that helpless feeling all too well. His own father had been a similar kind of vicious bastard.

"So I got a hardship discharge and came home to take care of my mum and do Dean's disgusting work. I had some money - my pay from the Marines – that I was able to hide, and I started doing odd jobs. The dog walking, night shifts at Maccy D's, whatever would get me some dosh. I'd give Dean the money from MacDonald's and any other legit job, but I'd kept everything else and built up a nest egg until I had just enough to get mum and my baby sister away from Dean. When she was in the hospital after giving birth, my mum finally admitted that he was no good, but she'd been too afraid to leave, she had nowhere to go. Looking at my sister, that precious baby girl, I knew I had to get them away from that scum and his mutts, no matter what. It took me too long, but six months ago, I was finally able to get my family to a safe place."

Merlin wishes he'd had the same determination as this young man. Maybe his own mam would be alive today if he had. "Ye'r a good one, Eggsy Unwin. To get your family to safely."

Eggsy nods. "Thanks – and I'm not telling you where they are, guv. You don't need to know."

Merlin wonders if Eggsy's thinking that ignorance is for his own good, or if Eggsy's worried that Merlin will use that knowledge against him. He hopes it's the former. "Your injuries tonight - did your stepfather do this to you?"

"Yeah - him and his dogs. He's got a new one - calls him Pit Bull. Pit Bull likes his knives. Thought that they could make me talk, tell them where Mum and the baby are stashed. But they'll have to kill me because I don't talk." Eggsy shakes his head. "Except that I've talked now. To you."

"Ye trust me, Eggsy. Don't ye?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Will ye let me help ye?" Merlin laughs at himself. _In for a penny, in for a pound..._

"You already have - you didn't throw me out. That's enough."

"What about yer friends? Will they be all right? Will yer stepfather go after them?"

"My buds know to stay out of Dean's way. And Dean won't dare go after them, but - " Eggsy gets paler, a considerable feat given his recent blood loss. "Harry, shit. Dean might go after Harry! I've got to warn him." Eggsy digs out his phone from his pocket and places a call, but it seems that no one picks up. "Damn it, Harry – why can't you ever remember to turn on your fucking phone?"

"Who's Harry?"

"A friend, kinda. I walk his dog, work a few hours in his shop. Help him out. He'd a sweet guy. I'd say he couldn't hurt a fly, except that he studies butterflies and raises them from caterpillars only to kill them and mount them." 

Merlin's about to make a comment about serial killers when Eggsy beats him to the punch. "And don't you dare say anything about 'Silence of the Lambs' - that guy had a lot more issues than being obsessed with butterflies. Harry's a right proper lepidopterist, not some freaking psycho-killer."

Despite Eggsy's staunch defense, Merlin thinks that this Harry person sounds a bit strange. "He sells butterflies?"

Eggsy shakes his head. "Oh, no – he owns a bookshop, in Bloombury, near the British Museum. A lot of antiquarian and natural history stuff, and he's got clients from all over the world, but there's a good selection of popular titles, too. It's a sweet place to hide away in for an afternoon. I help with stock, handle the shipments when they arrive, run errands, make local deliveries. Harry would hire me full time, but he wants me to go to university, so I can make something of myself. He thinks I have 'potential'." Eggsy whispers the last, as if it's a precious talisman.

Merlin wonders about the relationship between Eggsy and this Harry. He's got two conflicting pictures of the man – an elderly gentleman who got money and time and perhaps is a bit too appreciative of a young man's body, or somewhat younger man – closer in age to Eggsy, also wealthy, but more than a bit nerdish and obsessed. Neither version would be the kind of man who could handle what Eggsy had been through

"Do you think your friend's in danger?"

"I'm sure of it. There have been a couple of times that I've gone to Harry's shop and I'm certain I saw Rottie tailing me. Dean might think I told Harry something, or he'll try to use Harry to get to me. If Dean gets to him, he'll kill him. Harry's not the kind of guy who'd be able to deal with knife wielding thugs."

"I'm a knife wielding thug, too." 

"You're not a thug, far from it." Eggsy tries to get up again. "I've got to warn Harry."

Merlin's a bit warmed by the lad's partisanship. "Sit. Stay."

"I'm not a dog, Merlin."

"No, but Flora and Charlie are and they're very good at guarding precious things." He lets out a sharp whistle and the deerhounds, who'd been watching him this whole time, get up and return to a guard position in front of Eggsy's chair. "Ye can get up and move around, but Charlie'll bite ye in the ass if ye try to leave. Flora might go for yer nuts."

"Where are you going?"

"To get yer precious Harry, bring him back here. If ye think he's in danger, well – we can't just ignore it, can we? We need to keep him safe."

At that, Eggsy lights up. "You'd do that for me? Just like that?"

Merlin just raises an eyebrow at the lad, there's no need for a reply. "Now, just relax for a bit. I'll call ye when I'm on the way back, all right?"

Eggsy nods. 

"Now, where am I going?"

Eggsy gives him the address – it's not that far away. As Merlin leaves, he picks up his helmet and grabs a spare, sincerely hoping that Harry isn't some doddering seventy year old who can barely climb out of bed in the morning, let alone get on the back of a motorbike.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a tiny James Bond crossover, did you spot it?


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sundays were for relaxing. Biscuit baking. Errands. Perhaps dinner and a film on the sofa with Eggsy. 
> 
> Not for terrifying bald men showing up on his doorstop.

Harry generally treated Sundays as sacrosanct. Not because he went to church and devoted his day to that sort of thing, but because that was the only day he closed the bookshop and didn’t have to go anywhere and deal with anyone. He might pop out and do the grocery shopping, but when there were services which brought everything for delivery, why bother? Sometimes Eggsy would come by in the evening and they’d have dinner and watch a film, but it wasn’t every week and depended on the rest of his jobs. He had been coming round more frequently since his mum and sister moved, which was understandable - it was hard to be alone when you were used to having family nearby. 

Eggsy hadn’t responded to the text he’d sent that morning. Perhaps he was busy, extra dog walking or a pickup shift somewhere. Harry wasn’t particularly worried about it as he went about his day. He baked gingerbread biscuits in a fit of whimsy to take to the shop. Perhaps he’d offer them to customers, or maybe he’d just keep them for Eggsy and himself. 

He didn’t usually bother with much decorating at home, just a small tree in his lounge and some garland over the fireplace, which was what he spent the afternoon on while his biscuits rotated through the oven. It was only him there, after all, nothing to really go all out for. Eggsy had done a lovely job with the shop, though, and there indeed paper snowflakes everywhere as Harry had predicted. Eggsy had several talents, and Harry was hoping to convince the young man to pursue one or two of them at university sometime soon. He hadn’t yet offered to just completely fund the venture, although he’d been tempted several times. Eggsy had pride in spades, and although Harry didn’t want anything in return nor to imply that Eggsy couldn’t swing it himself, he was worried how the gesture would be received.

Late afternoon found him curled up on the sofa, quiet music in the background, a book in his hand, and Mr Pickle beside him, sleeping. It was odd that he hadn’t heard back from Eggsy by now, considering typical behavior. Still, it really wasn’t his business what the younger man did with his time, so he just sent him a photo of Mr Pickle’s nose sticking out from under the blanket, knowing he’d find it amusing. He ended up dozing off on the sofa, reading glasses perched on his nose still, lulled to sleep by warmth and music. 

He was woken perhaps an hour later by someone pounding on his front door. Disoriented, it took him a moment to figure out what was going on. Mr Pickle was already at the door and barking up a storm by the time he disentangled himself from his blanket. He wasn’t inclined to actually open the door once he looked out the peephole and saw a terrifying-looking bloke in a motorcycle helmet scowling at him, but he scooped the dog up in one arm and cracked the door open, leaving the chain lock engaged. 

“Can I... help you?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

Tall, scowly, and terrifying narrowed his eyes. “Are yeh Harry? Own a bookstore? Eggsy works for yeh?” 

At the mention of Eggsy, Harry’s heart was in his throat. Was this the stepfather he’d been warned about? “He’s not here, if that’s what you’re asking.” Even if he had been there, there would be no way he’d give Eggsy up to someone who meant him harm. 

“For fuck’s sake. No. That’s no what I’m asking,” the man muttered, taking the helmet off. “No, he’s at my house, and he seems to think yeh might be in danger from his arsewipe stepfather. Considering the condition he’s in, I agree, so I came to fetch yeh.” 

“The condition he’s in?” Harry echoed. He still wasn’t sure what this had to do with him, other than that Eggsy was involved.

The man outside pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before answering. “Aye. His stepdad beat the shit out of him and one of his boys sliced him up pretty good. He’s afraid they’ll track yeh down and come here next. He tried calling, but yeh didn’t pick up. Might have texted after I left, too. Look, can I come in or no? There’s curtains twitching out here.” 

Harry pulled his phone out of his pocket and looked. His phone, being on vibrate, hadn’t woken him from his sleep. At least he hadn’t had it on silent.

[17:37] Missed Call from Eggsy Unwin  
[17:53] Harry. Merlin’s coming to get you. I know he looks proper terrifying but you need to trust him. And I’m sorry I got you mixed up in this. It ain’t right. 

In for a penny, in for a pound, he supposed. Harry disengaged the chain lock, stepped back, and hoped this wouldn’t end with him bleeding out all over his foyer.

“Ta. Bloody nosy neighbors, can’t stand ‘em,” tall and bald groused, coming in and closing the door behind him. “I’m Merlin. No, it’s not my real name. Don’t ask what my real name is. I don’t want to leave Eggsy alone for long, so get what yeh might need for a few days and let’s get moving. How does yer dog do with other dogs? Big ones, I mean, I have deerhounds.” 

With the comment about deerhounds, it all clicked into place. Merlin was Mr Last- Minute-International-Business-Giant-Dogs-Pays-Triple-Lots-Of-Bookshelves. 

Harry wasn’t sure what form of international business Merlin was in, but from his stance, his paranoia about nosy neighbors, and the comments about not asking about his real name? He’d bet it was something not unlike what he did his last few years in the army. Fucking hell, he hoped not. Harry had never wanted to deal with that again. He had spent the last ten years specifically NOT dealing with that again. That was why he’d opened a dusty little bookshop and lived a quiet life with his dog. Despite his best goddamn efforts, it looked as though it had all followed him to his doorstep via his dog-minder anyway. Even with all that, he was concerned about Eggsy. 

“As long as they don’t try to eat him, I think he’ll be fine. He’s friendly,” Harry said. Friendly was an understatement. Mr Pickle was straining toward Merlin, tongue lolling out, tail wagging. He handed the dog to Merlin so he could go and pack. Of course he was going to go along with, he had no desire to be beaten to a pulp - or worse - no matter what complications this might rain down upon his head. “I hope you don’t expect me to attempt to convey Mr Pickle on the back of your motorcycle. Besides, I’m going to need my car to go to work in the morning.”

“Of course they won’t fucking eat him. Sure, they’re guard dogs, and good ones at that, but they’re well-behaved!” Merlin scowled as he accepted an armful of energetic cairn terrier, shaking his head. “And no, yeh can’t follow me in yer car. Dean’s boys might recognize it. I can’t chance it being parked outside my house, for Eggsy’s sake. And yer probably going to need to stay put for a few days.” 

“Oh, for God’s sake,” Harry sputtered. He’d made it two steps upstairs. “Don’t you think you’re being a little paranoid? It’s not as though I drive a flashy sports car, it’s a perfectly nondescript sedan of common make and model. And I can’t stay put for a few days, this time of year is the busiest for my shop. I have deliveries coming in and customers counting on me.” 

“Yer no taking the goddamned car, Harry. And yeh will close the shop for a few days. Once yeh see with yer own eyes the state Eggsy’s in, you’ll understand,” Merlin replied. “I’ll zip - Mr Pickle, was it? - into my jacket. It’s not far to go, and I promise yeh he’ll be fine.” 

Harry threw up his hands at Merlin’s final comment, muttering to himself about paranoid bald idiots as he went up the stairs, pulling out the backpack he used occasionally on the odd summer hiking trip. He gathered clothes, his toiletry bag, and his laptop and tablet, but before cramming all of that in, he knelt on the floor by his bedside table and opened the false front, scowling as he unlocked the hidden safe. He looked at the gun case and ammunition within. Should he bring them? His gut said yes. His continued desire to live his quiet, peaceful life said no. His gun won out. He crammed the unloaded modified Tokarev TT-30 into the bottom of the bag, putting both kinds of ammo in a side pocket. Merlin was still standing there by the door when he came back downstairs, the dog already zipped into his jacket. He did look cosy and didn’t seem to mind at all, from the way he was attempting to lick Merlin’s chin. 

Merlin didn't seem to find this amusing. Harry thought it was endearing AND fucking hilarious. He’d keep that to himself, though. 

He put his shoes on, shouldered the bag securely, and took his keys from the hook by the door. “I’m ready as I’ll ever be to get on a motorcycle with a total stranger because my dog-minder slash bookshop clerk told me I could trust him.” 

Merlin didn’t reply to that, just opened the door and walked out, leaving Harry to lock up, busy texting Eggsy that they were on their way back. He handed him the extra helmet once Harry finished with the door and climbed on, waiting for Harry to situate himself behind. “Hold on and don’t make any sudden movements. I don’t have passengers very often.” 

God, he was too old for this, but Merlin couldn’t have been much younger. If the other man could handle it, so could Harry. 

The ten minutes that followed were, in Harry’s opinion, some of the most terrifying of his life. Not only was he clinging like a limpet to an handsome man who up close smelled fucking amazing, he had the worry of his dog possibly attempting to leap from a speeding fucking motorcycle and the spectre of the vague threat of bodily harm hanging over his head. Any second now he was going to wake up and realize this had just been a particularly bad dream brought on by too many biscuits. 

When they arrived at Merlin’s and got inside, he fervently wished it had all been a bad dream, because the reality of Eggsy sitting in the corner of the sofa, bandaged and pale and guarded by two enormous dogs, was almost too much to deal with. There was a lot, he felt, that Eggsy had neglected to mention about his stepfather. He’d just said that he was an arsehole and not good to his mum, which was why he’d been happy that she’d been able to move. He hadn’t said anything about this level of violence, nor about a pack of goons - but as far as Eggsy knew, Harry had done a perfectly usual turn in the army and retired with his pension and his person intact, happy to have left that life behind. Why would Harry have needed to know? 

And Harry _had_ meant to leave the sort of nonchalant attitude toward violence that he’d had to adopt in his younger years buried far beneath the surface. Truly, he had spent a lot of time in therapy working through the anguish it had caused him, and he now lived a largely pacifist life - but the first thought that came into his head was ‘I’ll fucking kill whoever did this, and I’ll enjoy every second.’ 

The dogs looked to Merlin as he accompanied Harry into the house, standing at attention. “Flora. Charlie. This is Harry,” he unzipped his jacket and handed Mr Pickle to Harry, ”and this is Mr Pickle. They’re guests. Say hello.” 

Harry cradled Mr Pickle against his chest, not sure what to think yet of Flora and Charlie. Mr Pickle, being the friendly idiot child that he was, wriggled to get down immediately, so Harry let him go, hoping he’d still have a dog when this was over. The deerhounds sniffed him for a moment and he returned the favor, then all three turned their attention on him. Harry supposed that was a good sign. He held his hand out for them to sniff, surprised when one of them burrowed their head right beneath in a clear request for pets. He immediately complied, glancing over at Merlin with a puzzled expression. 

“Like I said, they’re big and scary looking, but they’re well-behaved with who they know is approved. Now, if yeh hadn’t come in with me this first time? They wouldn’t let you move from that spot. They’re good at what they do,” Merlin said. “Did yeh think they were going to have him for dinner?” He held his hand out for Harry’s bag. “Eggsy, yer in my room. Harry, the guest room. I’ll kip on the sofa.”  
Eggsy laughed, then winced as he remembered just where he was injured. “Shit. That hurt. No more laughing. That might be my fault, Merlin. I told Harry about this client I had whose dogs were big and might think Mr Pickle was a snack. An’ I don’t need your room, bruv. I can sleep here on the sofa.” 

Merlin scowled. “Yeh will no’. I want yeh well upstairs just in case.” 

Eggsy looked as though he might protest further, but he held his tongue, glancing over at Harry with a fond, but exasperated expression. “Yeah, he’s like this all the time. ‘No, Eggsy.’ about everything.”

“Probably best that he balances out my ‘yes Eggsy’ about everything, then,” Harry quipped, turning back to Merlin. “Mr Pickle is used to being the official welcoming committee and pest control at the shop - he isn’t a guard dog in any way, shape, or form,” Harry said, shrugging. “I didn’t know how he’d get along with dogs with more serious jobs.” Dog jobs. Really? The best conversation he could come up with was _dog jobs_? He blamed Merlin’s cologne and imposing presence, and his visceral reaction to Eggsy’s state. He was usually far more eloquent than he was currently coming off.

Eggsy sat back, frowning. “I’m really sorry to drag you into this, Haz. I know it ain’t fair an’ it’s the busy season, but I don’t want Dean’s dogs to go after you. I know they’ve tailed me to the shop before an’ he wants to know where I stashed me mum and sis real bad.” 

“No, don’t worry about it. It’s better to keep us all safe. I’ll just need to change the shop’s voicemail message and cancel this week’s deliveries. It’s not a disaster. So she didn’t move for work?” Harry asked, leaving off petting and getting a disappointed whine in response as he crossed the room to Eggsy.

“She’s got a job up there, so no, she did.” Eggsy shrugged. “She was taking some online courses on administrative stuff on the sly, brushin up on what she used to do. It was enough to get her a job in a solicitor’s office as a clerk. She likes it a lot. Dais is doin’ great in her new school, too. 

“It’s far enough away that he can’t find her easy. I’m the only one who knows where they are an’ it’s gonna stay that way. He don’t even like ‘em, Dean don’t. He just wants to control her,” he said bitterly, kicking at a stray throw pillow. 

“So they did this because you wouldn't say where they moved to?” Harry asked, perching on the end of the sofa. Merlin caught his eye and gestured that he was taking the bag upstairs. Charlie and Flora came to lie down by Eggsy, but Mr Pickle had clearly found a suitable leader and bounded after him. 

“Like I told Merlin, I ain’t never grassed up anybody and I’m not startin’ with me mum,” Eggsy muttered.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin brings Harry back to his house, and he's not quite sure what to make of the man. What he does know is that this butterfly collecting bookseller isn't quite what he seems to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter by Elrhiarhodan

Merlin really doesn't know what to make of Harry Hart. 

At first glance, he seems like a walking stereotype of the soft, genial and somewhat absent-minded middle-aged Englishman, complete with a ridiculously tiny dog and too many fussy habits. But when Merlin takes a closer look, it's obvious to him that Harry Hart is definitely not what he seems to be. There's a sharpness in his eyes, a tightness of posture that tells Merlin that the mild-mannered bookseller can be anything but that, in the right – or perhaps wrong – kind of circumstances.

Case in point, while Hart had argued about leaving his car behind (and that BMW Alpina parked at the curb, the one with the tiny butterfly sticker on the back passenger window, might be a sedan, but it's definitely _not_ nondescript, nor is it a common make and model), he hadn't hesitated to climb on the back of Merlin's Ducati. More than that, Hart knows how to ride pillion, and he didn't whinge or cringe or do anything that might jeopardize anyone's safety as Merlin maneuvered the bike through the snow-slicked London streets. 

That, in and of itself, earns Merlin's respect.

Under better circumstances, Merlin would look forward to unravelling the mystery of Eggsy's bookseller friend, but at the moment, he needs to focus on securing the house and making sure that Eggsy stays put and doesn't do himself any further harm.

He leaves Hart and Eggsy with Flora and Charlie, and goes about checking all of the windows on the second floor, putting countermeasures in please, and with each step, Hart's little rat dog is at his heels. And while Eggsy and his friend are making goo-goo eyes at each other – Merlin tells himself that there is no point in being jealous – maybe he should take a look at just what his unexpected guest had packed in the small, but oddly heavy backpack.

The clothing holds no interest, nor do the toiletries. Perhaps the weight could be explained by presence of a laptop and charger and a book. This last gives Merlin a bit of a pause; Hart has some interesting tastes in reading material. _The Eagle of the Ninth_ happened to be one of Merlin's favorite novels as a child. And it seems that this might be one of Hart's favorite books, too. The inside of the front cover is inscribed, _Property of Harry Hart_ , in a childish, looping script. 

But there's still something heavy at the bottom of the pack, and Merlin has absolute no shame about rooting around for the source of this weight. As soon as his fingers brush against it, Merlin knows what it is, but he pulls it out all the same.

Harry Hart has packed a gun.

Merlin lets out a low whistle as it pulls it out of its holster. This is no ordinary weapon, that's for certain. It looks like it started life as a Tokarev TT-30, a favorite weapon of Cold Warriors the world over. But someone, and Merlin is certain it hadn't been new guest, had modified this weapon to give it a second barrel and ammunition chamber for shotgun cartridges. 

As a man who makes his living with specialized weapons, Merlin's always kept his ear to the ground about the unusual and the unique. More than once, he had heard rumors about specially modified TT-30s that had been provided to certain members of the British military; high ranking professionals who had been granted the right to carry these guns as part of their assignments. This might very well explain the mystery of Harry Hart.

Merlin is just about done repacking Hart's backpack when the little rat dog lets out a happy bark.

Hart's leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over an impressive torso and looking far too dangerous to be a simple bookshop owner. "Do you always paw through your guest's luggage?" His voice is as icy cold as the winds blowing against the other side of the window.

Merlin isn't a man who's easily intimidated under any circumstances. "Aye, usually."

Hart lets out a snort of dry laughter and bends down to pick up his dog. "You've got a set of brass ones."

Merlin doesn't reply. That would be stating the obvious.

Hart adds, to Merlin's surprise, "And I guess you need them in your line of business."

"And what business is that?" Merlin's curious as to what Hart's thinking. He knows he looks like a badass; Hart's initial reaction when he'd shown up at his front door had proven that. But without the motorcycle and a deliberately brusque mannerism, most people tend to think he's some kind of tech wizard – a programmer or inventor. Merlin's not sure why people make that assumption, but nine time out of ten, that's what he gets.

Hart spends a few precious, annoying seconds cuddling the terrier, making all kinds of nonsense sounds to it and letting it lick his face. Finally, Hart looks back at him. "You're a freelancer."

"Oh?" Things could get complicated if Hart isn't really the kind of man that Merlin suspects he is.

But then the man clarifies. "And I don't mean a journalist or photographer or newsgatherer of any sort."

Merlin tries not to laugh. There have been times when he's used the first profession as a cover. "Then what I'm a freelancing as?"

"First, I thought you might be working for the military."

Merlin raises and eyebrow and deflects a bit, "Takes one to know one, I'd think." He's enjoying himself a bit too much.

Now it's Hart's turn to remain mute.

Merlin thinks about the gun he's just mentioned, he looks at the man in front of him, cradling a silly bit of a dog, and meets a hard, searching gaze. Merlin makes a calculated decision. If shit's going to rain down on them, keeping secrets isn't going to help matters. Merlin's fairly confident that he can handle Eggsy's stepfather and his mutts by himself, but an ally in the fight can make a big difference. 

He says, with studied casualness, "That very special Tokarev in the bottom of yer pack is only given to very special kinds of military personnel. Men and women who are asked to do very difficult jobs without the safety net that the Armed Forces usually provides."

Hart asks quietly. "Do you have one, too?"

Merlin shakes his head. "No. I got out before they made me that offer. And ye're right, I am a freelancer of sorts."

Hart sighs and puts the dog down. He picks up his backpack and empties it on the bed. He doesn't care about the wrinkles in his clothes or that his laptop could get destroyed if that toiletry bag opens up. He takes the gun, checks that the safety is still engaged, and clips the holster to his belt. The cardigan he's wearing does nothing to hid the bulge.

Hart then retrieves the dog from the mess on the bed and says, "You're a contract assassin, aren't you?"

Merlin nods, not at all surprised that Hart figured it out. "I prefer independent troubleshooter, but contract assassin is accurate." Hart doesn't blink at the correction and Merlin thinks that his houseguest probably had done similar work, once upon a time. 

He asks, "Does Eggsy know what you do?"

"Not completely. He knows I'm a professional badass, and I suspect he'll figure out the truth if things get ugly with his stepfather. I'm not going to let the man hurt Eggsy again." Merlin's surprised at the emotion in his voice.

Hart raises an eyebrow at that. "It's been a while since I've done anything like that. I'd made a very concerted effort to put that life behind me. But I would be happy to assist you in making sure that Dean Baker is permanently removed from Eggsy's life. And preferably left to rot in pieces at the bottom of the Thames."

Merlin appreciates the man's bloodthirsty sentiment. "So, we have an understanding, Mr. Hart."

"We do, and if I'm going to call you Merlin, please stop with the Mr. Hart and call me Harry."

Merlin offers his hand, one professional badass to another. "Pleasure to meet ye, Harry."

Harry grins and the years seem to fall away. "Likewise. And as you already know, this is Mr. Pickle."

Merlin looks from the dog to Harry and back at the dog. He says the first thing that comes to mind. "It suits him."

Harry just laughs. 

Merlin takes Harry through the townhouse as he double checks all of the windows, and in a gesture of great trust, he lets Harry into a small room, barely more than a closet, where he has video surveillance running on the neighborhood. Of course, Merlin can also connect to cameras around his building in the Docklands, but tonight, he doesn't need that.

"Your system is impressive."

Merlin shrugs. "All part of being a professional badass." He taps away at the keyboard, bring up the infrared camera that cover most of the quiet, residential street. "Hmmm, looks like someone's out there." He moves the image to one of the side screens - it's a bright heat signature in an otherwise black background. "Let's see if we can get a good look at our lurker."

The center screen is now filled with shades of gray and green from a night vision camera. He'd paid a pretty penny for that a unit that is only supposed to be sold to certified buyers in the military and intelligence community, but if he can get a clear image of the lurker, it will have been worth the expense. Merlin taps the keyboard again, tightening the camera focus and a face now appears on the screen. Another few keystrokes and the night vision image is converted into daylight color. "Ye recognize him?"

"I think I've seen that face before." Harry wipes his lips. "In fact, I know I have. He was outside the shop this morning and again this evening when I closed up. I thought he might have been following me, so I drove around in circles until I figured that I'd lost him. I guess I didn't."

"Or it's more likely that he'd once followed Eggsy here and is hanging about hoping to catch him as he leaves." Merlin looks back at the screen and the man tosses a cigarette on the ground, looks up at the sky, and if Merlin's lip reading is accurate, curses the falling snow. A few seconds later, he walks away. Merlin tracks him until the end of the block and lets out a tiny sigh of relief.

A confrontation will be inevitable, but apparently not tonight.

Merlin backs up the feed and prints out a clear image of their departed lurker. "I suspect that Eggsy will be able to identify this man."

"Unless he thinks he's be grassing him out to us. That young man is loyal, even when loyalty hasn't been earned."

"I think he's wise enough to recognize the threat and help us neutralize it. If I can't intimidate him into telling us what we need to know, perhaps you can sweet talk him into it." Merlin hopes Harry doesn't notice the thread of jealousy in his voices. He picks up the page the printer just spat out, and says, "Shall we go check on our charge?"

Flora and Charlie as still guarding the lad, and they both look at him with worried expressions. Eggsy's sleeping, but he's muttering, "No, no – don't know nuffing."

Merlin turns to Harry. "Perhaps you should try to wake him, he trusts you.

Harry puts the little dog he's still carrying onto the floor, where it promptly tries to climb up Flora's back. Merlin's a little shocked when his fierce girl lets the terrier sit on her head. Charlie gives all of them a look of disgust. Harry ignores his dog's antics and gently rubs Eggsy's arm as the lad whimpers again. "It's all right, my boy. No one will hurt you anymore. I'll see to that."

Eggsy seems to find comfort in Harry's words and finally opens his eyes. "Haz? What's going on?" He looks around and tries to get up, only to fall back into the chair. "Shit – I was dreaming – forgot where I was."

Merlin steps out of the shadows. "It's okay, lad. Ye'r safe." The looks of relief Eggsy gives him warms places that Merlin had long thought to be terminally frozen. He does his best to ignore the feeling and asks, "How are ye doing? How is yer pain?"

Eggsy brushes his hand over his belly. "It hurts, but not really bad. Like a really bad bruise, like when I've been punched. It'll pass."

Merlin meets Harry's eyes and recognizes the murderous fury in them. Dean Baker and his mutts will pay for what they've done very soon. But best not draw Eggsy into that. "Do you want some paracetamol? I can't give you anything stronger than that, not with the bleeding."

Eggsy nods. "Yeah, I think I could use a couple. Thanks."

Merlin heads into the kitchen, but not before seeing Mr. Pickle, that silly little dog, push himself off of Flora's head as if it's a diving board and goes bounding after him. To give Harry and Eggsy a few minutes of privacy, he puts up the kettle for tea, takes out the paracetamol and a bottle of water, and raids his stash of biscuits for something to feed his guests. He sighs and wonders at how his well-ordered and very quiet life has been so drastically up-ended. 

Yes, Eggsy Unwin is someone whose company he's allowed himself to enjoy, but in a very strictly limited way. Since the lad had come into his life, Merlin's told himself that Eggsy's far too young and too sweet for him, and that if he'd ever found out just what Merlin does for a living, he's probably run screaming to the Feds. But he can see now just how wrong he's been about Eggsy. The lad is loyal to a fault, and his sweetness is all the more precious for the difficulties he'd lived with.

And it's not as if he'd have a chance with Eggsy. The lad's clearly gone over for his bookseller, and it seems as if the feeling's mutual. 

Merlin laughs at his own idiotic feelings – Eggsy might be a sweet dream, but Harry Hart is just the type of man Merlin could go head over heels for, too. Yes, he shows a fussy and soft face to the world, but he's as much of a badass as Merlin is. He's lived a life that Merlin can respect, and that makes this all the more pathetic.

The tea kettle whistles, distracting Merlin from his pitiable thoughts. He prepares the tea as properly as a grande dame, adds the pot and a set of cups and saucers to a tray already holding the creamer, sugar bowl, the plate with the biscuits. He shoves the water bottle and the pain killers into his trouser pocket, and heads back into the living room, Mr. Pickle leading the way.

There he finds Eggsy apologizing to Harry again.

"I'm so sorry I dragged you into this." 

Merlin's fingers itch when Harry sweeps his fingers across Eggsy's brow, pushing the hair away. "And I told you, dear boy, there's nothing to be sorry about. I just wish you'd let me know what kind of problems you've been having. I might have been able to help."

Eggsy makes a skeptical noise, as if the idea of this mild-mannered bookstore owner helping him, then he sees Merlin and gives him a bright smile. "You're the guv, Merls."

Merlin rolls his eyes at the nickname, because no matter how many times he's told the lad not to call him that, Eggsy persists in doing so. He gives Eggsy the paracetamol and the water. "Take these before the tea gets cold."

Eggsy is obedient to Merlin's command, something Merlin finds far too delightful, and to cover his own confusion, he begins to pour the tea. But before he has a chance to ask his guests how they like their tea, Eggsy pipes up and says, "Haz, is that a gun you're carrying or are you just really happy to see me?"

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [The Kingsman pistol](http://www.imfdb.org/wiki/Kingsman:_The_Secret_Service)   
>  [Harry's "nondescript and ordinary sedan", a BMW Alpina](https://www.bmwusa.com/vehicles/7-series/alpina-b7.html)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Hart, secret badass.

“Shit,” muttered Harry, sitting back from Eggsy a bit, glancing up at Merlin with a ‘what the fuck do I do now?’ look in his eyes. 

Merlin couldn’t help the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk, but he said nothing, only shrugging as if to say ‘not my problem.’

Eggsy’s eyes widened and he followed Harry’s glance to Merlin. He leaned in to fill the gap Harry had left when he sat back. 

“Haz, you been holding out on me? Living some kinda double life? Bookshop owner by day, super spy by night? You a secret badass like Merlin here?” Eggsy asked, tone light although he clearly wanted to know the answer. 

Harry sighed, realizing no help was coming from his host. “No, Eggsy. I’m not living a double life. Not currently, at least. Not for the last ten years. I am what you know me as - a bookshop owner and a hobby lepidopterist. And as you know, I did spend almost thirty years in Her Majesty’s army. What you don’t know is I might have done a few things in my time that qualify me as, you say, a ‘secret badass’. I’ve tried very hard to leave that life behind me and I’ve succeeded - up until now.” 

Eggsy paled, and Harry could see him starting to withdraw physically as the more mental and emotional shields threatened to slam into place. 

Harry immediately felt terrible, reaching out and gently grasping Eggsy’s shoulder for a moment before stroking his upper arm, comforting. “No, no, dear boy, please don’t take that as censure. I don’t like violence for violence’s sake. I like my quiet life. But you’ve become part of that quiet life, and thus I’m willing to do what needs doing.” 

Merlin chose that moment to pipe up. “One: yer stepfather and his dogs are a problem.” He handed Eggsy the surveillance printout. “Recognize this one? Harry thought he’d seen him around the shop before. Two: how do you two like yer tea?” 

“Milk and two sugar,” Eggsy replied on autopilot as he looked down at the photo. “Yeah. I do.”

“Just milk for me, thank you,” Harry murmured, making eye contact with Merlin over Eggsy’s head. He didn’t want to push, but he knew they were going to have to at least a little bit. “Eggsy, I know your loyalty and instinct for self-preservation is strong and you may not want to tell us anything, but can you trust that Merlin and I will take care of this and keep you safe?” 

“I want to. Really do,” Eggsy muttered, still looking at the printout. “But it ain’t just me. It’s mum and Dais’, too. And last I knew, Harry, you was just a bookshop owner and you was only a danger to exotic butterflies. I trust you to not fuck me over on my pay and make book recommendations and make a really great Sunday roast, yeah. The rest? It’s a little hard to believe, innit?”

Harry sighed, giving Eggsy’s arm a final squeeze before he let go. “Yes, it is. And I don’t blame you for being skeptical.” 

“I don’t wanna be. I can see it, like. The way you carry yourself or somethin’.” 

“But it’s hard to just trust anybody like that, aye,” Merlin interjected. “What I can tell you, Eggsy, is this. The gun Harry is carrying is modified in a very specific way. It’s only given to a certain subset of military and MI-6 personnel. There is no other way to obtain one except by extremely illicit means, and if Harry wanted to keep a service revolver, there would have been far easier ones to obtain.” He handed them each a teacup and nudged the plate of biscuits closer. “So, yes, I would say Harry is a ‘secret badass’ whether he obtained that gun by official channels or illicit ones.” 

Eggsy wrapped his hands around the cup, thinking this over as he let the vessel warm his hands. 

Harry watched him, glancing over at Merlin every so often to gauge his feelings, but didn’t get much from the stoic mask the other man put up. He wanted to solve this for Eggsy. With Eggsy, really, but fix it for him. Merlin clearly wanted the same thing. He wondered what, if anything, was going on between them. Merlin certainly seemed like Eggsy’s type, strong, protective, with an air of mystery. He didn’t want to get in the middle of it. Eggsy deserved someone who would look after him like Merlin had stepped in to do. Who would be able to protect him, if it was needed. Harry had been out of the game too long. 

“Poodle. They call ‘im Poodle, but his actual name is Andy. He ain’t Dean’s right hand, but he’s been with ‘im since I known ‘im,” Eggsy said, not looking up from his tea. “If you seen the tall skinny one around, that’s Rottweiler an’ Dean’s right hand. He was with Pitbull earlier. There’s a couple others, but they ain’t important. Could point ‘em out, though.” 

“Thank you, Eggsy. After you finish that tea, you should probably get some rest,” Harry suggested, patting his hand. 

Eggsy yawned. “Yeah, probably a good idea, Haz. What do you think, Merls? You two gonna tuck me in?” He was teasing, clearly, but obviously amused by the two men hovering over him. 

Merlin snorted. “You’re a cheeky little shit, Eggsy. It would serve you right if we did. Bedtime story and all.” 

“Read him a chapter or two of _The Eagle of the Ninth_ , perhaps?” Harry asked Merlin, smirking. 

“Aye, one of my favorites too,” Merlin agreed. 

“You two are awful. I ain’t lookin’ for a daddy,” Eggsy muttered. “Or two daddies.” 

“No? Better not go around asking for people to tuck you in, then, dear boy,” Harry retorted. He certainly couldn’t say his feelings for Eggsy were precisely fatherly. They probably ought to be, considering the age difference. 

Perhaps... when all this unpleasantness with Dean was over, there was potential there. For something. Harry didn’t know precisely what, but he found he liked what he knew of Merlin so far and wouldn’t be opposed to continuing their acquaintance, seeing what became of it. Of course, that assumed that Merlin was even interested in anything more than taking Dean Baker out of the picture and getting rid of his unexpected houseguests posthaste. It was far more likely they’d never speak again after this but for Eggsy telling each other they said hello. 

Harry should be happy about that. He liked his life. His solitude. His peace and quiet and the predictability of his routine. This was nothing but a momentary blip on the radar. The situation would resolve, and he’d be back to his mews house and bookshop, not-exactly-pining after Eggsy. Certainly not missing a man he’d just met. 

That would be silly. 

“I was just kiddin’”, Eggsy muttered, although his cheeks were pink as he busied himself with drinking his tea. 

Harry just hummed noncommittally, savoring the scandalized look on Merlin’s face as he dunked his chocolate biscuit into his tea. “If you’d been posted somewhere at the back-arse end of beyond and the only biscuits you got were hard, stale things that might have been digestives in a former life, you’d have developed the habit as well,” he said primly. 

“I’m just surprised that someone so proper and reportedly well-mannered would dunk his biscuit in his tea,” Merlin said, shrugging. “I’ve nothing against the practise. I like a proper oatmeal biscuit for it myself.” 

“Nah, gotta be a ginger nut,” Eggsy interjected, snatching one from the tray. “Or them posh ginger-lemon sandwich ones. Harry’s got a fancy biscuit stash but he bakes ‘em more often than not.” 

“Aye? I thought I smelled something like that when I went to pick him up,” Merlin replied. 

Harry scowled. “Left the entire bloody batch of ginger biscuits at home to get stale,” he lamented. 

“You was makin’ ginger biscuits? Was you gonna bring them to the shop?” Eggsy asked, and Harry blushed, looking down at his tea. He had, indeed, been intending to. And to send some home with Eggsy, as well. “Aw, Harry! You do like me.” 

Like him? Of course Harry bloody liked him. Would he have got on a motorcycle with Merlin in the dead of night if that wasn’t the case? Resigned himself to closing up his shop during the holiday rush? Gone to this much inconvenience to himself just to be sure Eggsy stayed safe? Not fucking likely. 

“Eggsy, you say a lot of ridiculously obvious things for such an intelligent young man,” he muttered. 

Now it was apparently Eggsy’s turn to blush. “You think I’m intelligent?” 

Merlin groaned. “Oh, fer fuck’s sake. Yeh said yerself that Harry thinks yeh have potential and that yeh should go to university. Obviously he thinks yer intelligent. Although I’m beginning to wonder why with the way yeh keep saying ‘ridiculously obvious things’.” he said pointedly. “It’s clear to me yer not an idiot, Eggsy. Yeh were smart enough to come here where yeh knew yeh would be safe. Now, lad, keep up the streak and don’t argue about going to get some rest. Let Harry and I worry about things for now.” 

Eggsy set his empty teacup down on the coffee table and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right, Merls. I’m knackered. Might need some help up the stairs from you two, though. The paracetamol is kicking in but it’s still not doing a whole lot.” 

Getting up, Merlin gave him an approving nod. “I’ll go and make sure everything’s tidy. You and Harry take your time getting up the stairs.” 

Harry watched Mr Pickle once again follow Merlin out of the room. “My dog is an abject traitor,” he lamented. 

“Don’t make me laugh, Haz. It hurts!” Eggsy protested, trying and mostly failing to hide a grin. 

“We can’t have that,” Harry agreed, patting Eggsy’s knee. He stood and helped Eggsy get up from the sofa, supporting him with a careful arm around the younger man’s uninjured side. “As slow as you need to go, Eggsy,” he assured him. 

That was apparently very slow. Having one’s side all but filleted made for painful movement, and every wince on Eggsy’s face only steeled Harry’s resolve to see Dean Baker and his dogs suffer similar or worse torment. Nobody was going to hurt his boy this way and get away with it, now that Harry knew what was going on. Between Merlin and himself he was sure they could make their displeasure known. 

“I found you a shirt to sleep in. I’d offer pyjama pants, but they’d just fall off you,” Merlin said as they finally reached the bedroom, Harry bringing Eggsy over to sit on the edge of the bed Merlin had so thoughtfully turned down. Mr Pickle jumped up next to him, and Eggsy’s hand went automatically to pet him, as though soothing the dog might help him to soothe himself.

“Ta. Probably gonna need some help gettin’ it on,” he muttered, cheeks pink. 

Between Merlin and himself, they managed to get Eggsy into Merlin’s shirt and out of his jeans without too much jostling. Eggsy was half-asleep again by the time they got him tucked into the middle of the king-size bed, Mr Pickle curled up at his feet. He might not be a guard dog, but he knew when his people needed him - and Eggsy was absolutely his people. 

Harry stood in the doorway for a moment, Merlin at his side, watching Eggsy settle. “I don’t know how I could have been so blind to the problems he’d been having,” he murmured to Merlin. “But I didn’t expect them. I just thought he’d grown up poor and was doing the best he could. Even with the time he spent at my home and with me at the bookshop, I just assumed he was only eager to make something of himself, be helpful to his mum and sister. I had no idea he was trying to get them all away from a seriously dangerous individual, I just thought Dean was a garden-variety jackass.” 

Merlin shook his head, nudging Harry’s shoulder. “How could yeh have known? Don’t blame yerself, Harry. I didn’t see it either. There’s only one person who needs the blame here, and we’re going to make sure he gets what’s coming to him and more,” he replied, just as quiet. “Let’s go back downstairs, discuss it over a drink. God knows I need one after all this.” 

Before Harry could reply, Eggsy stirred. “Haz? Merls? D’ya mind... would ya, I mean... I ain’t scared, exactly, but... I don’t wanna be alone right now. Can ya stay for a bit? Both of ya, I mean.”

Harry froze. Somehow the idea of crawling into bed beside Eggsy (and Merlin, his brain traitorously supplied) was ten times more nerve-wracking than going after Dean. Harry knew what he was doing hunting down a despicable character. Out of practice, to be sure, but it was still within his wheelhouse. This? Uncharted territory. Oh, he’d had paramours, but none he’d have been willing to kill for like he was for Eggsy, who couldn’t even be considered a paramour by any stretch of the imagination. 

Merlin rolled his eyes and gave Harry a tiny shove toward the bed. “Aye, lad. We’ll stay with you for a while,” he assured him, pointing Harry to the far side and taking the side nearest the door for himself. 

Right. He unholstered his gun and put it on the bedside table within easy reach, took his shoes off, and crawled in beside Eggsy, Merlin on the other side. “Sleep, my boy. We’ll be right here.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has a plan, but will Harry agree to it?

It doesn't take long for Eggsy's breathing to even out into sleep. Just long enough for Flora and Charlie to decide that they need to investigate what's going on and poke their shaggy heads into the guest room. Both of them are wearing as sheepish a look as only a dog could get when breaking a rule – in this case, coming upstairs and into a bedroom.

Merlin grins, completely unsurprised at the beasties' behavior, and gestures them to enter. He nods at Harry, who gets up and is instantly replaced by Charlie as he jumps onto the bed; Flora quickly takes Merlin's place. Not to be outdone, Mr. Pickle makes his way from the foot of the bed to the spot under Eggsy's chin. The boy sighs and relaxes.

Merlin gives Harry the universal hand gesture to follow quietly, and they both leave the sleeping lad surrounded by his hairy and fierce protectors. Out in the hallway, Merlin whispers "Stay here for a sec," and he goes back to his tiny office and retrieves a listening device about the size of a bottle cap. He returns to the bedroom, puts it on the nightstand, turns it on and makes sure that his phone is set to receive the audio. 

He's relieved to see that Harry had remembered to take his gun with him.

Back out in the hallway, Harry grins and shakes his head. "A spook's version of a baby monitor?"

Merlin shrugs, "Whatever works."

Back downstairs, Merlin – ever paranoid – once again checks all of the doors and windows again. Of course they are as locked as they'd been the first time and third time he'd checked them. Merlin also reconfirms that the alarm system is engaged. No one will get in without making a terrible racket and triggering several nasty countermeasures. 

"Everything still secured?" 

Despite the tiny touch of amusement in Harry's tone, Merlin treats the question with utmost seriousness. "Aye. Not that I think anyone will even try to break in on a night like tonight. Haven't seen a snowfall like this in London in decades." He shakes his head, "That lad does have a sense of timing."

"That he does." Harry goes to collect the tea things.

"Ach, let me do that."

"No, please – we've been enough trouble." Harry manages to get everything back onto the tray.

Merlin's not going to fight him for it, but leads the way back into the kitchen. "I'd offer ye something more substantial than tea and biscuits, but I've been away for a few weeks, so the icebox is empty mostly. The only reason there's milk for the tea is that when I'm out of town, Eggsy keeps bringing me fresh containers and swapping them out as they start to go off."

"That sounds like a particularly Eggsy thing to do."

"Aye." Merlin sighs. "That lad …"

"He means a lot to you." Harry sounds oddly sad.

"He does. Didn't expect that, but it's not like I'm going to do anything about it." Merlin shoves his hands in his pants pockets.

"Why not?"

Merlin laughs. "Are ye blind, man? I'm not exactly the lad's type."

"I don't think Eggsy's particularly concerned about your gender."

"Now ye're just being ridiculous. I'm not talking about whether the lad likes cock or not. Eggsy's gone ass over tea kettle for ye. He looks at ye and there are fucking rainbows and fairy glitter in his eyes. He talks about ye and I can hear the bluebirds singing."

Harry gives him a disgusted look. "Now who's being ridiculous? You're the one he looks at with hearts in his eyes. I'm just an old man that he's fond of, you're the living, breathing action hero in the story."

Merlin's jaw drops. "Ye're kidding me, right? Ye're actually jealous of _me?"_

"Not kidding in the least." Harry shakes his head. "I'm jealous of you _and_ I'm jealous of Eggsy. How amusing is that?"

Now Merlin's absolutely speechless.

Harry runs his hand through his hair. "Look, forget I said anything, all right? I'm just a little out of my element and it's been a difficult day. My tongue has gotten away from me."

Words might have failed Merlin, but he hasn't been turned to stone. There's something about this man distress, the loss of his so-very-English composure, hell, the way that one curl now flops against his forehead, that makes Merlin go a little mad. He puts a hand on Harry's arm, finding surprising strength under that cardigan. When Harry doesn't resist, Merlin pulls him close. Still giving Harry a chance to pull away, Merlin finds his voice and whispers, low and deep, "Perhaps I can help you find it."

Harry licks his lips and if anything, presses his body closer. "You can give it a good try."

Merlin leans forward, liking how Harry almost matches his height. He brushes his lips against Harry's and there's a spark, not simple static from the dry winter air, but something deeper, something existential. He's only met this man a few scant hours ago and feels like he's known him a lifetime. 

Harry is no passive recipient; he moves under Merlin's lips and lets out a small moan. Merlin responds, one hand finding Harry's hip, the other threading through that ridiculous mop of curls, and deepens the kiss. Harry tastes like tea and biscuits and toothpaste and everything the Merlin likes in a man. There's experience in the way Harry's lips move against his, in the way Harry's tongue flirts and retreats and chases Merlin's. 

It feels so fucking _good_ to hold this man, this virtual stranger, in his arms. It makes Merlin feel more alive than he has in years. And certainly more aroused than he's gotten with anyone or anything, including his own right hand and an extensive set of sex toys in a very long time. Merlin tugs at Harry's ridiculous cardigan, and then the white button down, only to find that Harry's got a cotton vest on underneath that. But Merlin perseveres and finds lovely warm skin covering sleek muscles.

So much for the quintessential middle-aged Englishman. Harry Hart, bookseller, lepidopterist, and _sub rosa_ badass, is built like a god. 

And not a passive god at that. Harry's hands are busy, too. He's trying to worm his way under Merlin's jumper and Merlin breaks their kiss to pull the thing off. That was a minor mistake.

He's still wearing the long knife and spine scabbard, as well as the long daggers in their wrist sheaths. Harry's eyes widen at the straps crisscrossing Merlin's torso and the leather cuffs on his wrists. 

"Jesus _fucking_ Christ." Harry's panting, his eyes wide, and when he licks his lips, Merlin wants to pounce.

_"Ugh, Flora, get your hairy ass off the bed, I gotta take a leak."_ Eggsy's voice, through the monitor feed, is like a bucket of ice water. 

Harry backs away and Merlin feels like shite. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for."

"No?"

Harry gives him a slight smile. "I think we both are equally culpable."

"But of what?" Merlin thinks of the lad upstairs, the young man he's grown more than fond of but has always considered out of reach. He looks at Harry, a man he's met just a few hours ago, a man who is temptation personified in his messy hair and rumpled clothing.

"Bad timing?" Harry tucks in his shirt, fixes his sweater, runs his fingers through his hair. "Let me go check on Eggsy, and maybe we should talk when I come back?"

Merlin nods and as watches Harry leave the room, he compartmentalizes what just _almost_ happened.

A glass of good scotch helps with the process. So does disarming himself. It takes little effort to unbuckle the scabbard, and judicious use of his teeth takes care of the bracers on his forearms. Not that Merlin puts the weapons away. The long knife rests against the sofa and the two daggers find a home on the coffee table in front of it.

By the time Harry returns, Merlin has rediscovered his composure and formulated a plan for dealing with one Dean Anthony Baker and his pack of mutts.

"Eggsy all right?"

"He's fine. Still mostly asleep, but he let me check his bandages - the bleeding seems to have stopped. The dogs are back on the bed and they'll keep him from thrashing around better than a strait jacket. And I'm sure that Mr. Pickle will come running for us if Eggsy does manage to get into trouble."

At that, Merlin smiles. "He's not the useless little toy I first thought he was."

Harry takes mock offense at that. "Absolutely not! Pickle has a long and proud heritage - his great-great-grandsire was one of London's finest ratters."

"A most noble lineage, for certain." Merlin gestures over to the bar. "Help yerself if you'd like."

Harry does, making appreciative noises over Merlin's collection of fine single malts. "I'm spoiled for choice - the Dalmore or the Macallan?"

"I think ye've earned the Macallan 21 tonight."

Harry chuckles, "I think I agree." He pours himself a measure at takes the chair opposite Merlin. "So, what now?"

"Now, I call in a favor." Merlin opens a password protected app on his tablet, one that generates a secure numeric token that syncs to a very precious government server. He dials a telephone number that he'd memorized years ago, it connects and emits a brief tone. He enters the fifteen digit code and then a second code. Finally, he's connected to a human being. 

_"How may I direct your call?"_

"Harry Pearce, please."

_"Who shall I say is calling?"_

"Merlin." It's all so prosaic. No code phrases, no ridiculously arcane challenges and responses using an article buried in the day's Guardian or Times.

_"Merlin, you bastard. You're the last person I expected to hear from you tonight."_

"And it's good to hear your voice, too, ye shithead." Merlin sees Harry _Hart's_ eyebrows go up, and he smile to let his guest know that there's nothing wrong.

_"Are you going to make me go through a bunch of useless pleasantries, or shall we get to the point?"_

"If ye think I'm going to wish ye a Happy Christmas, ye'r sadly mistaken, ye old coot."

Pearce laughs. _"What do you want?"_

"I may be calling in one or two of the favors ye owe me."

_"Oh?"_

Merlin takes a deep breath, committing himself to the course. "Dean Anthony Baker. Is he on yer radar?"

There's the sound of fingers tapping on a keyboard, presumably Pearce is looking up Baker's record. 

_"For most of the past twenty years, it seems that Baker's been relatively low level drug dealer; he operates out of the council estates on Alexandra Road in South London. Also, moves stolen goods, usually hijacked from trucks leaving the port. Runs a crew of five to ten men at any given time, senior deputies are given nicknames corresponding to dog breeds. What's your interest in him?"_

Merlin has no intention of grassing on Eggsy, and goes on the offensive. "What's yers?"

_"Why do you think we have any interest in Baker?"_

"Ye said 'relatively low level', that means that in someone's eye, he's a bit more than what he seems."

Pearce laughs. _"Are you sure you're happy being just a freelancer, Merlin? I could always use a man with your skill sets and keen eyes."_

"I'm fucking happy doing just what I am. Yer people have a habit of dying in very ugly ways."

There's painful silence on the other end and Merlin almost regrets his words.

But Pearce puts his feelings aside, it seems, and tells Merlin, _"Baker has been looking to expand his business - he's been caught in conversations with several parties we've had our eyes on. A bunch of White Britain groups that are giving us some concern." ___

__Merlin asks the big question. "How much of a headache will it be if Baker and his mutts are removed from the picture?"_ _

__There's another pause, accompanied by some more keyboard tapping. _"None, actually. Baker wants to play in a bigger pond, but the people he's been approaching don't seem to care for him and his other businesses. They don't find him … trustworthy. Something about not being the family man that he's claimed to be."__ _

___So that's why Baker's so damn keen on finding Eggsy's mum and baby sister._ Merlin meets Harry's eyes and the other man nods, clearly having the same thought._ _

__There are still other questions Merlin needs to ask. "Is there anyone in Baker's crew I I should be worrying about?" The last thing Merlin wants to do is kill an agent or an asset._ _

___"There's a relatively new member in the gang; Baker calls him Pitbull. Very handy with knives."_ _ _

__Merlin wants to break something. Pitbull is the bastard who cut Eggsy up. "He's one of yers?"_ _

___"Not yet, but he has some skills that might be of use to us."_ _ _

__"Might be doesn't count for squat, Harry. After Baker, Pitbull is the next on my list."_ _

__Pearce makes a rude sound. _"If you must."__ _

__Merlin thinks of Eggsy as he'd found him, covered in blood from chest to belly, passed out from the pain. "I must. And I'm going to want cover for this."_ _

___"Really now? And how about a diamond tiara for that bald head of yours?"_ _ _

__"How about remembering what happened in Sheffield three years ago? The three agents ye almost lost because of a mole? The three agents ye would have lost if I hadn't been on that rooftop in the middle of winter, giving yer people cover. If things get messy, I'm using yer name as a get out of jail free card, Sir Harry Pearce, CBE."_ _

__Pearce grumbles, _"You don't ask for much, do you?"__ _

__"I ask only for what I need."_ _

___"Fair enough. If you need cover, you know how to reach me. And Happy Christmas, asshole."_ _ _

__"Same to ye, ye dickhead." Merlin disconnects the call and shakes his head. It's always a very special pleasure dealing with the head of MI-5's Domestic Counterterrorism Unit._ _

__Harry looks at him with unblinking eyes. "Knowing what your line of work is, I shouldn't be surprised that you have a direct line to senior members of MI-5." Harry takes a sip of his scotch. "But it's still disconcerting."_ _

__Merlin wonders what Harry would say if he knew about Merlin's contact at MI-6. "Disconcerting or not, we're cleared to take out Baker and his crew. I know ye know how to use that Tokarev, but how are ye with long range arms?"_ _

__Harry shakes his head. "I have had training, but that's your specialty, I think."_ _

__Merlin smiles at Harry's perspicacity. "Aye. Easier to stay out of the reach of the people with badges."_ _

__"But not, I think, suitable for this particular situation. Long range work requires time to observe patterns of behavior, routines, locating areas of vulnerabilities. I don't have to tell you that long range works best when you have the luxury of picking the time for your kill. Baker and his crew are hovering at the edges here and will attack as soon as Eggsy leaves here, or they find their balls to do a direct assault. You've make certain we'll have official cover, so I think we need to draw them out and take them down without worrying about the niceties."_ _

__Merlin's actually aroused by Harry's pragmatic approach to semi-judicial murder. This might just be fun._ _

____

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another tiny crossover reference. Sir Harry Pearce is the head of "The Grid", the Domestic Terrorism Counterintelligence Unit in the series MI-5 (a/k/a Spooks). It's been a few years since I've seen the show, so his vulgarity might be a little OOC. But it seemed a natural fit that MI-5, just like MI-6, would be one of Merlin's better clients.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry's thoughts run away with him. Is it bad that he's looking forward to well-deserved murder?

Harry sipped his scotch slowly while Merlin talked with MI-5. The man was clearly resourceful in many ways and on many fronts, and competence was such a turn-on for him. Merlin couldn’t have put on a better display of flirtatious behavior for Harry if he’d tried. Not to mention the way he kissed. Harry wasn’t sure he’d ever been kissed or kissed anyone like that in his life. He was hoping the scotch would take the edge off the arousal simmering under his skin, but it wasn’t working thus far. 

“Baker’s made Eggsy’s life hell. I can’t decide whether to just end him with a bullet to the head or draw it out. Pitbull, though - after seeing what he did to Eggsy, I think I want to see him suffer in the same exact way. Perhaps with salt added.” Harry was sure he looked murderous as he felt as he spoke. “And this is the last time in my life I’m going to do this, I fucking swear. We’re going to take care of this problem for Eggsy and then I’m going back to doing nothing but puttering around my bookshop.” 

Merlin snorted. “And pinning butterflies in glass cases. Don’t forget that.” 

“That’s a hobby, it isn’t work,” Harry said, waving his hand. It should be impossible for him to feel so comfortable in a virtual stranger’s home, especially with everything that had happened in the last few hours. Eggsy had been right, the bookshelves taking up space on just about every wall were enough like home that he liked the space a great deal. Being united in a common goal surely had something to do with it as well - not to mention the company. 

“I agree with yeh on Pitbull. I was hoping yeh’d let me take the lead on that,” Merlin said, nodding at his knives. 

Smirking, Harry nodded. “Oh, absolutely. I’d just make a hash of it. I’m sure you’re a veritable artist.” 

“Aye. I’ll let yeh hold the salt shaker.” 

The smirk gave way to a full-throated laugh at that comment, and Harry couldn’t help leaning in and kissing Merlin again, just briefly, a quick press of lips. “I wasn’t expecting you to be funny,” he murmured. “Next order of business - we are leaving Eggsy out of this, yes? No need for him to get hurt or be in any more danger than he already is?” 

“I think we should offer to leave him out of it. He won’t want to be, but I’m betting if yeh explain it’s for his own good, he’ll give in,” Merlin suggested. “Yeh will be better at that gentle touch than I am. I’d just end up getting impatient and ordering him to stay put.” 

Harry considered this. Merlin was probably right in his assessment. Until a little while ago, Eggsy had thought Harry /was/ nothing but a soft touch. And perhaps he still was, but he was also willing to go to great lengths to protect Eggsy. Even if that meant dusting off his gun and latent skills. He was just grateful he’d kept up the fitness regimen that had stood him in good stead over the past fifteen years. Merlin had certainly seemed impressed enough by what he’d seen earlier. Not that what Merlin thought of his body was the important consideration at the moment. 

All right, maybe it was important. But only to Harry, and only superficially. 

“We should talk to Eggsy in the morning, see where Baker and his boys spend their time and where it’d be easy enough to catch them out,” Merlin said. “Probably a pub near the estate where he lives, something like that. Preferably one with a dark alley behind it. He won’t be missed, and there’s plenty of other small-time drug lords to fill the vacuum, sad as that thought is. But Eggsy will be well quit of him and his influence, and that’s what I care about.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “Not to mention his mum and sister. He won’t tell me where he’s stashed them, just ‘up north’. I understand why, now. I just know that he misses them terribly. Perhaps with Baker gone he can get on with his life, go to university, something better than now. He’s got too much potential to scrape by on odd jobs for the rest of his life even if I do love having him in the shop.” 

“Aye. He told me that earlier, that yeh thought he had ‘potential’. I thought yeh were some pervy old man. Glad to know yer only as old and pervy as I am,” Merin teased, getting up from the sofa, empty glass in hand. He held his hand out for Harry’s glass as well. “Another?” 

Harry considered the offer. Another wouldn’t leave him impaired the way they’d been slowly sipping. And it _was_ very good scotch. “Yes, if you don’t mind,” he agreed, handing the glass to Merlin. The evening felt like nothing so much as a slow seduction what with the heated kiss in the kitchen and the casual discussion of much-deserved murder (and what did that say about Harry that the idea of getting his hands dirty was still a little bit of a turn-on), but it didn’t seem right to leave Eggsy out of the seduction part of it. He’d hate for him to feel left-out, not when he’d ostensibly brought them together and it was fairly obvious there was attraction on all sides.

“Not in the least,” Merlin murmured, their fingers brushing as he took the glass from Harry. 

Was it awful of him to want to go wake Eggsy up, or just eager? Eggsy’s injuries put it on the side of awful. His heart - and his trousers - said eager. He watched Merlin at the sideboard, all long, lean grace and compact movements. Now that the possibility was there, it was bloody difficult to ignore. 

Who would have thought the most important skill for him to have retained was compartmentalization? He took his glass back, letting his hand linger on Merlin’s for a moment, savouring the nascent promise and potential, then put it aside. It was time to plan. 

That glass of scotch led to another... and another... as they hashed out what they could without the information they needed from Eggsy. By the wee hours, they were slumped on the sofa, talking through yawns, stocking feet propped up on the coffee table. Conversation had veered into favourite books and music by that point, and Merlin’s shoulder comfortable and his jumper was so soft and Harry just drifted off right there.

The next thing Harry knew, he was blinking blearily up at a sunlit, smug, and grinning Eggsy with his phone in his hand and all three dogs standing around him. His mouth felt like something furry had crawled in and died there, and he was sure his hair was a disaster. Merlin groaned next to him and tried to bury his face between Harry’s upper arm and the sofa, finding it difficult as he still had his glasses on. Harry had at least taken his off at some point. “Did you--”

Eggsy snickered, tucking his phone into his pocket. “Ohhhh yeah, I got pictures. Probably about a dozen of ‘em. Dogs have gone out and been fed. Coffee’s almost ready. And toast, since you don’t have much else in, Merlin. Thought I’d take pity on you two, ya looked so cute all cuddled up there. Got real cozy real quick bonding over being secret badasses, did ya? Kinda jealous you didn’t invite me to the slumber party. Flora an’ Charlie an’ Mr Pickle kept me nice and warm, though.”

“I’ll burn yer phone,” Merlin muttered without malice from where his face was still mashed into Harry’s shoulder. “I will nuke it from orbit.” 

“Bruv, I got no doubt you got the connections ta do it. Or barring that, the ability ta hack into iCloud. But I sure ain’t gonna make it easy for you,” Eggsy replied, cheerfully enough, but Harry could read the uncertainty in his eyes as he looked between the two of them. Well, that wouldn’t do. 

“Budge up and use Eggsy’s shoulder, Merlin. I’ll go get the coffee and toast,” he said, getting up and holding his hand out to Eggsy. “Here, Eggsy. Right in the middle where you ought to be.” 

The smile Eggsy turned on him as he took his hand was utterly dazzling, and Harry congratulated himself for his quick thinking. That had been the right thing to do.

“Yeah, all right. It’s all on a tray anyway, you just gotta grab it and press the coffee.” Eggsy sank into the warm spot Harry had left, only letting go of Harry’s hand once he was settled with a still-sleepy Merlin leaning into him. Charlie and Flora settled on the floor at their feet, and Mr Pickle followed Harry into the kitchen. 

He stood in the doorway watching Merlin and Eggsy for a moment. They were talking, too low for him to hear. Eggsy was smiling, the corner of his eyes crinkling as Merlin asked him something, ostensibly about the dogs as he gestured to the deerhounds. The fierce desire to protect Eggsy wasn’t a surprise, but the same to care for Merlin was, especially after only having met him about twelve hours ago. He was clearly capable of taking care of himself and did just fine at it, but much better could life for the contract killer be to have someone at home taking care of things like groceries and laundry and the dogs? Harry would contemplate this newfound want to be a househusband when he had more time for introspection. 

Baker and his gang first. Anything else later. 

Harry brought the tray out to the lounge and sat down on Eggsy’s other side. “Feeling better this morning?” He asked, pressing the back of his hand to Eggsy’s forehead and cheeks, just to be sure he hadn’t developed a fever or other signs of infection. 

“Still hurts and is tender, but nothing’s broke open or bleedin’ anymore,” Eggsy replied, tolerating Harry’s fussing with an amused smile. “I think I’ll survive with a lil’ more rest.” 

“Good. You aren’t feverish, so I concur with your assessment.” He poured three cups of coffee, fixing Eggsy’s how he knew the younger man liked it. Merlin took his own cup and added nothing. They sipped in silence for a few minutes, letting the caffeine do its work. 

Eggsy cleared his throat and put his cup down. “I don’t know what you two are planning. An’ I’m not sure I wanna know or if I should know. But whatever you want me ta do, I’ll do it. Ain’t no way I’m letting him know where mum and Dais are.” 

“Yeh have good instincts,” Merlin muttered. “We just need to know where we’re most likely to find Baker and his dogs.” 

“The Black Prince. It’s a pub near the estates where I usedta live. Where he lives. He’s there all the time, like it’s his office or somethin. Dogs are usually there, too. Most likely ta find em all there in the evening, though.” 

“Looks as though Merlin and I are going out for a pint tonight,” Harry said, with a decisive nod.


	8. Chapter 8

Last night's surprise snowstorm ends sometime after Merlin and Harry drift off into a scotch-induced haze. 

The morning brings a painfully bright blue sky and an even brighter sun that is doing its best to rid London of the inconvenient white stuff. The morning also brings Eggsy behaving a like a perfect little shit, complete with a wide grin and cellphone camera to capture him and Harry drooling in their sleep. 

Now that Eggsy has fully decided to trust Harry and Merlin with his life – and the lives of his mother and sister – he's most forthcoming about the details of his stepfather's business. "The Black Prince – it's a pub near the Rowley Estates on Alexandra Way. Dean treats it like it's his office. He and his dogs do a lot of their dirty business there, like it's something out of an American mafia show, except it don't have any strippers."

Merlin meets Harry's eyes with the full understanding that they are going to be paying a visit to this lovely establishment tonight.

"What else can ye tell us, lad?"

Eggsy idly strokes Flora's head until Mr. Pickle gets jealous and tucks himself under Eggsy's hand. "Like what?"

"How close can people get to Dean? Do his dogs act like bodyguards or are they there to work?"

Eggsy shrugs. "It depends. If he don't know you, he ain't gonna talk to you. If you try to approach him, it's likely as not he'll set Rottie – Rottweiler – on you. But if you've got something he might want, he'll give you the time of day."

Merlin is forming a picture in his head of a moderately intelligent bully, which means he can be manipulated. "Is he ambitious?" Harry Pearce had said that Baker was trying to get in with the white nationalists, but he didn't say if that's because he believes in the cause or if he sees it as a path to more power.

"Yeah, and no?" Eggsy grimaces. "He always wants more – more money, more drugs, more influence on the street – but he never really tries to shift himself to go out and get it. He thinks the world's supposed to come to him."

Harry asks a good question. "Does your stepfather or his dogs carry any guns?"

"Dean don't – he's smart like that. If he doesn't carry, he can't be charged. But Rottie does. Has this tiny little pea-shooter that he's right proud of. Don't know if he's ever killed anyone, but it makes him behave like he's got the second biggest dick in the room. Poodle sometimes carries, but half the time I think he wouldn't know which end is dangerous." Eggsy laughs, but then sobers. "It's Pitbull you've got to watch out for. He doesn't do guns, but he's dead evil with the knives." The lad rests a protective hand across his belly. "I've seen him in a fight and he's fucking fast."

"Thank ye, Eggsy. This is all good information." Merlin is treating this like any other assignment; collecting as much intel as possible for committing to a course of action. He does not plan on letting things escalate to hand-to-hand fighting. There's too much risk; Harry might be a badass, but he's a decade and more out of the field. The thought of Harry hurt is a untenable as letting Eggsy go and put himself back in danger.

"Merlin, I think our watcher's back." Harry has been looking out the window, careful not to disturb the half-open blinds. Merlin and Eggsy join him.

Eggsy confirms, "Yup, that's Poodle."

Merlin shoos his guests away from the window and out of the front room. Resettled in the kitchen, he opens up the camera application on his tablet and watches the squat little man pace back and forth across the street, chain smoking and flicking half-consumed cigarettes onto the sidewalk. 

"Eggsy, what do ye know about Poodle? Has he been with Dean long?"

"He's the first of Dean's mutts - the story is that Dean met Poodle when they were both doing stints in Her Majesty's best local accommodation, and Poodle somehow got Dean out of trouble with the screws. Dean likes Poodle because Poodle's missing a few brain cells – he does what Dean tells him to do and keeps his mouth shut."

"And would ye know if Poodle has any warrants out on him? Or a record?"

Eggsy has good news for them. "He got pinched by the feds last year for hocking some bootleg fags, did a few months and got let out on good behavior. It was right around the time I got my mum and Daisy out – Dean had been distracted. I think he'd been worried that Poodle was going to grass him – except that Poodle's as loyal as well, a poodle." As they watch, Poodle heads over to the wall of and takes a leak. 

And it seems that Eggsy's intel on Poodle and guns is accurate. From the way the man has hoisted his jacket up to keep it out of his stream, the silver handle of a revolver is plainly visible. 

Harry just grins, understanding what Merlin's planning. "You are an evil man."

Eggsy smiles too. "You gonna call the filth on him?"

"Of course. We need to get this particular mutt off the streets." Merlin plots for a moment, then asks, "Do I play the outraged drama queen act or am I a master of the universe?" 

Eggsy is confused, but Harry's grin becomes broader. "As much as I'd love to see you as a drama queen in high dudgeon, I think the police will probably respond better to an icy cold master of the universe."

Merlin has to agree. "Then if ye'll excuse me, I need to go don my armor."

"Huh?" 

Eggsy is still confused, but Harry explains. "A suit is a modern gentleman's armor, and I suspect that Merlin is relishing his new role as the noble Galahad."

Merlin snorts at that. "Ye can be that perfectly pure and virginal knight, Harry. I'll stick with being the wizard." With that, Merlin heads upstairs to change. As he pulls off his sweater, he realizes that he hasn't had anything as civilized as a long, hot shower since he left Rio two days ago. The one he took on the plane doesn't count.

And this one won't either, since every minute matters.

Shaving takes longer than the shower, since he needs to attend to his scalp, and it's close to an hour before he returns to his guests, dressed in suit that cost _almost_ as much as his favorite rifle.

And it's worth it to see their reaction. Eggsy whistles, Harry licks his lips, and both men look like they wouldn't mind stripping him naked and having him for breakfast. Merlin finds the idea enthralling. It's a pity this morning's adventures are a prelude to this evening's murders.

"Is Poodle still out there?"

Harry shows him the surveillance feed on the tablet. The squat little man is still across the street, still chain smoking, still pacing.

"Ye'd think he'd give up by now." Merlin shakes his head.

Eggsy disagrees. "Nah, if there's one thing that Poodle's good at, it's following Dean's orders."

Merlin doesn't bother with his cell phone, he goes over to the wall and picks up a very old fashioned telephone handset. It's not even a cordless unit, but something out of the waning days of the last century. He dials 9-9-9 and tells the operator that there's been a prowler watching his house for the last two hours, and worse, he thinks the man might have a gun.

The operator tells him that an officer will be dispatched immediately and offers to stay on the phone with him until they arrive. Merlin rolls his eyes, but agrees.

Ten minutes later, a police car pulls up and Poodle looks like he's doing his best impression of a deer caught in the headlights.

"That's my cue." Merlin buttons his suit jacket and heads out to play the role of designated asshole. He frowns at the wet pavement and the melting snow, cloaking himself in the persona of an irritated and entitled City banker .

Poodle is now arguing with the officer, a young woman who doesn't look old enough to drive, let alone carry a warrant card. She looks like she's about to let him go with a warning, which doesn't suit Merlin's purposes at all. 

"Officer, this _person_ has been hanging around my house for at least two hours."

She turns to him, "He says he's waiting for his nephew."

"Frankly, miss, I don't care if he's waiting for Her Majesty herself to emerge from Number Seven." Merlin tilts his head to his neighbor's house. "He's been standing there, smoking and littering the streets with his foul cigarette butts. And worse, he's urinated on the wall of Number Twelve. That's public indecency. And I think he has a gun."

The officer is wavering and Poodle looks like he wants to attack Merlin. Merlin just smiles and takes out his phone. "I can show you the footage."

The officer raises an eyebrow at that. "Footage? You have cameras?" She seems less than impressed.

"I have several high-definition cameras facing the street – you never know what kind of trash is going to come by and rob you." He calls up the security application on his phone, running it back to where Poodle is pissing against the wall of Number Twelve. And wouldn't you know, the morning sun catches the gleam of metal tucked into the back of Poodle's pants.

"You see! You see! He has a gun!" Merlin raises his voice to hysterical levels. "This isn't America, this is a civilized country."

That turns the tide. The officer demands that Poodle lean on her cruiser as she pats him down. And yes, she does find the gun. Poodle makes a run for it, but ends up flat on his ass as he skids and slips on the melting snow, like something out of a slapstick movie. The officer cuffs him and drags him back to her car. Merlin stands there, arms crossed and an unfeigned look of satisfaction. 

"Thank you, officer. Your diligence is appreciated." Merlin knows he sounds like an utter twat.

She nods and makes some noise about protecting and serving the citizens of London before driving off. Merlin heads back inside. 

Eggsy and Harry are all smiles, and Merlin takes the cup of coffee Harry offers, returning the smile. "Well, we've taken care of that little problem."

Eggsy asks, "What now? Should I head home? Wait for your all-clear?"

Merlin and Harry reply simultaneously, "Hell, no."

Eggsy doesn't look the least bit offended. Actually, Merlin thinks the lad looks rather pleased. 

"Ye'r not going anywhere, not until we take care of Dean. I'm afraid he's not going to let up about yer mother and sister."

"How do you know that?"

"Last night, I called a friend whose business it is to know such things. Yer stepfather's been trying to get in tight with some rather unsavory people, people who what proof that Dean's a right proper Englishman, with the right kind of family."

"What does that mean?"

Harry asks, "Your mother – is she blonde and blue-eyed? Like Daisy?"

Eggsy nods, and Merlin can see that Eggsy's made the connection. "Of course Dean would take up with those assholes. He spouts a lot of that White Britain crap. So proving he's got a pretty blonde wife and kid would give him the cred he needs with those scumbags."

"Aye. And having his wife run away from him diminishes his power and authority. He's going to keep coming after ye, lad. Yer safe here, and here's where ye'll stay until we rid ye of the threat."

"Are you going to kill Dean?" Eggsy looks at both him and Harry for a moment, but then drops his gaze.

Merlin is surprised by the directness of question, given Eggsy's earlier comment that he wasn't sure he should know what they are planning. "Lad, I think for yer sake, it's best that we say nothing. Plausible deniability is for the best." Pearce might give him cover and Merlin could probably get him to protect Harry's back, too. But it might be a stretch to extend it to Eggsy. He'd rather not risk it.

Eggsy bites his lip and says, "I never intended this to happen. I just wanted a place to hole up until I could get out of town. And now I've dragged you and Harry into something dirty and violent. You could get hurt, or worse" 

Harry goes to Eggsy and hugs him gently. "My dear boy – we're here and we're doing this because we care about you. And we're better than your stepfather and his dogs. Leagues better."

Eggsy looks at Harry like he's hung the moon, but before Merlin's heart can twist with jealousy, Eggsy turns in Harry's arms gives him the same look. "Guys, you both – you - " Eggsy shakes his head. "You better not get hurt, you better come back. If I'm reading things right, we've got something here and I don't want to lose my chance at it because someone did something stupid."

Merlin doesn't know why he's surprised that Eggsy can see what's been building between the three of them. He feels like it's the moment to take that perfect kill shot. The light is right, the air is still, the target is on full display, and there's no way he can miss. 

One step, and then another, and he's close enough to see the flecks of gold in Eggsy's eyes. He tucks two fingers under Eggsy's chin, tilting his face up. "Tell me to stop, lad. Tell me ye don't want this."

Eggsy licks his lips and Merlin wants to growl. "I don't want you to stop, Merls. I want this. I want everything I can have. You, Harry, and whatever that means."

Merlin glances up and catches Harry's gaze. Those beautiful eyes have gone dark and lambent with the same desire Merlin is feeling. Harry nods.

Merlin takes his shot and kisses Eggsy. The lad's lips are soft and that's how Merlin keeps the kiss – soft, gentle, cautious. It's nothing like the kiss he's given to Harry last night, which had been a thing of power and testing limits and pushing boundaries.

He has no idea about Eggsy's experience, and there's an atavistic part of Merlin that makes him want to be Eggsy's first. No, he wants both him and Harry to be Eggsy's first – and perhaps Eggsy's only. 

It's that thought, the outrageous possessiveness of it, that turns caution into greed, and greed might have fully overtaken commonsense, except that Eggsy's moan of desire turns to a whimper of pain as he presses against Eggsy's wounded belly.

Merlin steps back, not far – but just far enough to give his lad some breathing room. "Eggsy?"

Eggsy looks at him, his pupils blown with arousal, his lips red and wet, his cheeks stained pink. Merlin can't recall ever seeing anything more beautiful. "Merlin?"

"Ye all right?"

"I'm … good." Eggsy turns a bit and looks up at Harry, who seems to share Eggsy's flush of desire. "Haz?"

"My dear boy, my dear, dear boy." Harry leans down and kisses Eggsy, too. Merlin's heart turns over from the sheer beauty of it, and by the time Harry pulls away from Eggsy, Merlin's rock hard and panting.

It's only Mr. Pickle who saves them from a likely bad decision, barking at Harry and Eggsy, giving everyone a display of canine acrobatics as he tries to get in on the act.

"Oy, Pickle - enough of that. Eggsy grabs the terrier mid-sproing and cuddles him. 

Merlin and Harry smile, likely sharing the same thought.

The tension of the moment passes and Harry pours himself another cup of coffee. Eggsy drifts off with Charlie, Flora and Pickle, leaving them alone.

"What next?"

"I need to get to my armory in the Docklands. Can't do this with just a couple of knives."

"You mean to tell me you don't have an arsenal here?"

"I don't. Just this." Merlin opens a cabinet and pulls a SIG Sauer out of a cast iron cooking vessel. "I leave my business at my office. So, are ye up for another ride on the bike?"

Harry grins. "Hell, yes. And this time, I might actually enjoy it."

Merlin calls Eggsy back into the kitchen. "Lad, ye said you did a stint in the Marines."

Eggsy grimaces. "Yeah, finish most of basic training before Mum called me and let me know she was up the duff, that Dean was going to make her get rid of the baby."

"So ye made it through to weapons training?"

"Yeah. Small arms, the usual field kit." Eggsy eyes the pistol resting on the table. "And yeah, I know how to use that. Was top of my training group in marksmanship and weapons handling."

"Show me." Merlin lays out a tea towel and puts the gun on it. "Field strip and reassemble, please."

Eggsy takes a moment to examine the weapon and then, with sure and steady hands, he breaks the gun down to its components. At Merlin's nod, Eggsy reassembles, checks that the safety is on before he slides the cartridge back into the grip and chambers a round. Eggsy sights down the length of the barrel, looking far too comfortable with a gun in his hand, and then offers it back to Merlin, grip first.

"Keep it for the moment, lad. Harry and I have to go out for a bit and while I don't expect yer stepfather to come here, it's best that ye be prepared to defend yerself.

Eggsy nods. "For the record, I hate this shit."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

A good suit might be the modern gentleman's armor, but Merlin really isn't a gentleman. For what he's about to do and where he's about to go, he needs something a little more practical. And so does Harry.

He takes Harry upstairs and into his bedroom, and goes to root through his closet. "This should do for ye." 

Harry catches the heavy set of riding leathers that Merlin tosses at him.

"What's yer shoe size?"

"Twelve and a half, sometimes thirteen." 

Merlin laughs. "I'm just putting it out there, I'll share my tea with ye, and hopefully my bed. But unless it's a dire emergency like today, I'm not sharing my shoes."

Harry just laughs, his eyes sparkling. 

Merlin takes out a pair of worn engineer boots - favorites - and hands them over. "I'm going to want those back. But ye can keep the leathers."

"You think I'll be riding pillion with you that frequently that I'll need my own?"

"That, or ye'll be on yer own bike." Merlin can't really believe what he's saying. He's planning a future with Harry - and Eggsy - like they're a trio of lesbians after a first date, except they really haven't had a first date. "I'm pretty certain that Eggsy will want to ride with ye, too."

Merlin drops that bomb as casually has he drops his trousers and puts on his own set of leathers. 

Merlin carefully keeps his back to Harry as Harry strips down to shorts and socks and vest, before covering them up with Merlin's second set of leathers. He would have passed this test of gentlemanly behavior, except he meets Harry's eyes in the mirror. 

Harry smirks when he catches Merlin ogling that very fine chest and flat belly. "I'd repay the compliment, but we've got work to do."

"That we do." Merlin takes his own boots and heads back downstairs, Harry following. If he'd been gratified by Eggsy's reaction when he'd been wearing the suit, it's nothing to what he gets when Eggsy sees the both of them in black leather.

Eggsy eyes are like saucers when he whispers, "Fuck me. Literally." He shakes his head. "You're a pair of goddamn wet dreams."

"Patience, lad. Good things come to those who wait." Merlin sits down to put on his boots.

"Yeah, and I intend to come plenty of times." Eggsy chuckles a bit breathlessly.

Merlin looks up and blinks. He agrees with the sentiment but it sounds a little out of left field. "Huh?"

"Easy on him, Eggsy. Our Merlin's very focused and I don't think he quite realizes what he just said." Harry's sitting across from him, buckling the knee-high boots that Merlin had lent him.

Merlin finally catches on. "Ah, it's been a while since I've been a twelve year old boy."

Eggsy blushes. "Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about." Merlin leaves Harry and Eggsy for a moment and goes to retrieve his knives from the living room. And Harry's Tokarev, which he hands to the man without a word. 

Staring at Eggsy and Harry, Merlin smirks and gives his men a bit of a free show, slowly stripping out of the leather jacket and wrestling with the harness for the long blade that rests along his spine. He deliberately (and somewhat unnecessarily) flexes his pecs and deltoids and biceps as he slides the blade into the scabbard. 

The harnesses for his wrists are always a bit tricky and Merlin takes advantage of his guests' presence. "Would you mind helping me with these?" 

Merlin does his best not to smirk as both Harry and Eggsy fumble with the leather buckles and straps. But the get the job done and Merlin sheathes the blades before putting the jacket back on.

"So, what now?" Eggsy sounds breathless.

"Harry and I go and do what we have to do. Ye stay put and set the alarm after we leave. Feed the beasties, let them out in the back to do their business and reset the alarm when ye come back. I know the pantry's a bit bare, but I'd rather not risk a delivery."

"Believe me, Merls, after what I grew up with, your pantry's very well stocked. And I'm not exactly starving at the moment, but I'll manage."

"All right." Merlin purses his lips and tries to think of any other instructions. "Keep the curtains down and the blinds shut and stay away from the windows as much as possible. If there's an emergency, call my cell. If yer curious about what's happening, sit on it."

"Okay, okay." Eggsy doesn't look too happy. "I want you to come back to me. Safe and whole. Don't do anything stupid, all right?"

Merlin pulls the lad into his arms. "I won't do anything stupid, that is one promise I can keep." He presses a soft kiss on Eggsy's forehead. "Yer important to me, lad. I didn't expect that, but now that I have ye, I'm not letting ye go." 

Eggsy hugs him and while Merlin can feel the lad stiffen at the pain the motion's caused, neither man is willing to let go. At least not until Harry clears his throat.

Merlin releases Eggsy and watches with pleasure and a surprising amount of happy satisfaction as Harry and Eggsy share a moment. Whatever jealous monster that had been nibbling at his heels has gone scurrying back into the darkness.

Merlin smiles and doesn't say anything when Harry admonishes Eggsy to stay inside and rest. Eggsy grumbles a bit, but agrees. He mutters something about being tired and maybe he should go back upstairs and take a nap with the dogs.

"Do ye want us to tuck ye in again."

"No, I think I can manage today. But come back and wake me with a kiss?"

"We most certainly will, darling boy." Harry hugs Eggsy again, which means that Merlin has to hug the lad one more time, and then they watch as Flora and Charlie and Pickle herd Eggsy up the stairs and into Merlin's bedroom, where he'd slept last night.

"Time to go, no?"

Merlin nods, and ever paranoid, he checks the security feed to make sure no one has come to replace Poodle before grabbing their helmets, setting the alarm, and heading out.

There are still piles of snow everywhere, but its melting quickly and almost all of the accumulation on Merlin's bike cover is gone. Merlin unwraps the Ducati and stows the cover in a saddlebag. "Shall we?"

They put on their helmets and Merlin straddles the bike, waiting for Harry to settle behind him before starting up. Despite the cold and the wet night, the beast quickly rumbles to life. Like the trip yesterday, Harry is a careful and considerate passenger. But unlike yesterday, Merlin now relishes the heat and mass of the other man against his back. He's actually grateful for the minor traffic snarls that force him to take a few detours, lengthening the trip to his Docklands property.

Between the thrum of the heavy, powerful engine between his thighs and the closeness of a man he hopes to take as a lover very soon, Merlin's cock is at half-mast when they pull into the building and dismount.

Harry, of course, notices; he doesn't say anything, just glances down at his own bulge and smiles.

Merlin smiles back and shakes his head. This man is going to be so much trouble.

He heads over to the far wall and a security panel. His palm print, a retinal scan, and a security code open the door to his armory. It's not as extensive as one might think for someone in Merlin's profession, but since he tends to prefer long-range targets and has a favorite rifle, there's really no need to stock up on guns like he's some American doomsday prepper getting ready for the zombie apocalypse.

"Take what you want." Merlin gestures to the display.

"Thanks, I'll stick with what I've got, but if you have spare ammunition, I'd appreciate it."

Merlin thinks about arguing with Harry, that the Tokarev has distinctive rifling patterns, which could be traced back to the agency that issued the weapon. And then Merlin realizes that would be highly unlikely. Whatever branch of the Army that commissioned Harry as an intelligence operative would have retained tight control over its weapons information, especially for those modified Tokarevs.

"I might even have an extra clip or two. I've used Tokarevs on occasion." While Merlin rarely does the up-close-and-personal kills, he has and in those cases, he always drops the guns after the kill. He's a professional and knows how to modify his weapons so they are untraceable. The last Tokarevs he'd owned had been left behind in Montenegro, where he'd completed a contract on Ukrainian arms dealer looking to purchase yellowcake uranium. 

A search through several cabinets yields the spare clips for Harry's Tokarev and a box of the right caliber bullets. He even finds a box of shotgun shells for the weapon's special modification. 

Merlin prefers something simpler and takes a pair of Glock-22s. Plain and boring and deadly efficient. And disposable. The serial numbers have been etched off, the barrels replaced, making the weapons all but untraceable. That might make the authorities suspect that professionals are involved in the death of Baker and his dogs, but given what Merlin plans to do to Baker and Pitbull, the police are more likely to think it's the work of a madman.

And that doesn't set well with Merlin. He's an assassin, not a sociopath. At least that's what he's been telling himself for the last thirty years. He gets no pleasure out of death. He's accurate and efficient. He doesn't fetishize his weapons or his skills. 

But this plan to torture Baker and Pitbull makes him uneasy. Yes, the men deserve to experience every ounce of pain they'd inflicted on Eggsy, but the more he thinks about it, the less he likes it.

"Merlin, what's the matter?" Harry must be reading the conflict on his face.

"Have ye ever cut a man up? Sliced him to pieces while he's still alive?"

Harry shakes his head. "You know I haven't."

"But ye've offered to hold the salt shaker."

"What are you saying? And please spell it out in simple words." Harry's accent turns crisp and cutting, much like the blade Merlin had planned to use on Pitbull.

"Do ye want to go back to Eggsy with blood on yer hands? With the screams of another human being ringing in yer ears? Eggsy deserves to live a life free of Dean Baker and his associates, but do ye want to touch Eggsy with hands that have tortured someone?"

Harry considers Merlin's simple words. "You're not suggesting we let them go." That's a statement, not question.

"Not hardly." Merlin strips down the Glocks and puts them back together in a matter of seconds. "I'm saying that I should do this as efficiently and as quickly as possible. Dead is dead. That's what counts."

Harry considers those words and Merlin finds himself holding his breath. He's not sure what he'll do if Harry insists on their original plan.

But Harry doesn't. "Honestly, when I think about it, it doesn't set well with me, either."

Merlin relaxes. "Good."

"So, how are we going to do this?"

"There's no 'we'. I'm taking ye along because you have training and experience in black ops. But ye're not an assassin. All ye're going to do is provide an extra set of eyes. Ye'll only be my extra gun if things go tits up. Otherwise, ye're to stay quiet and out of sight. I'm the killer, ye're not."

Harry starts to argue. "I know what I'm doing, Merlin. I spent twenty-four years in Army Intelligence, the last five in black ops."

Merlin cuts him off. "I don't doubt that ye were once a right-scary badass, but it's been too long for ye. Ye retired for a reason; ye run a book store and bake ginger biscuits. Ye shouldn't have blood on yer hands." The more Merlin thinks about Harry Hart killing someone, the more he wants to knock the man out, lock him here in his office and keep him as far from harm's way as he's keeping Eggsy. Whatever Harry did in his past life, he escaped it for a reason, and Merlin doesn't want to see him stained and mucked up.

Harry takes a breath and starts to protest, but he must see the determination in Merlin's eyes. Or he realizes the truth of his own limitations. "I hate to admit it, but you're right. I'd only be a liability right now. I can do backup, though."

Merlin lets out a sigh of relief. "The plan is simple. We'll lure Baker and his crew out of The Black Prince and down to an abandoned South London warehouse that I know has been used by certain parties for less than savory activities. Ye'll be my lookout and backup, and I'll take care of Baker and his crew. We leave and a few hours later, I'll drop a word to Harry Pearce, who'll assert jurisdiction and that will be that. It's neat and efficient and there's little chance of fucking up." 

"What will get Baker off his ass?"

Merlin grins. "Eggsy, of course." He locates one of several burner phones he keeps on hand and tosses it to Harry. "We'll send him a message - pretend it from Poodle - saying he's tracked Eggsy down."

Harry grins. "That will definitely get Baker moving. And his guard will be down, especially if he's expecting to find a wounded Eggsy."

"Exactly." Merlin thinks for a moment. "We should call Eggsy and find out if Baker will trust a text from an unfamiliar number. Maybe there's a code phrase that Poodle would use."

And it turns out that there isn't.

_"Dean ain't that smart, guv. His dogs lose their mobiles so often that he doesn't bother to put their new numbers in his. So they'll text and say something idiotic like 'it's me, boss'."_

Harry asks, "Is there a chance that Poodle would have called Dean after his arrest?"

_"Real unlikely. Dean's make it clear that he's never to be brought into his mutts' problems. You get pinched by the filth, you get yourself out. And since Poodle's known Dean the longest, and has done time a few times, he'll know the drill. Likely he's sitting pretty in lock-up, waiting for a court-appointed moron to get him off on the gun charge and he'll be home in a week or so."_

"Good. That's what we need to know. Anything else?"

_"Oh - make sure that when you text Dean, you call me Muggsy. That's what Dean always calls me."_

"Lovely." Merlin can't keep the sour disdain out of his voice.

But then Eggsy asks, _"How are you guys doing?"_

"We're fine, lad." Merlin won't say anything else. "How are you?"

_"Lonely. Flora and Charlie and Pickle are great company, but not really into the conversation, you know?"_

"I do. Now get some rest and make sure ye reset the alarms after the dogs go out for the last time."

Harry smiles and shakes his head at the mother-henning. Merlin just shrugs. They both say goodnight to their lad and spend the next few hours finalizing their plans. Originally, Merlin was going to swap out the Ducati for the bland sedan he keeps here, but a bike is easier to hide than a car.

It's almost seven, well past the evening rush, by the time that Merlin and Harry set out for The Black Prince. Harry remains with the bike and Merlin goes in to make sure that Baker and his crew are where they're supposed to be. He also wants to get a good look at the men he's going to murder tonight.

They're a distinctly unimpressive group of specimens. Baker looks like he's sampled too much of the blow he's been pedaling to the locals, and combined with the broken veins of an alcoholic, Merlin thinks there's an outside chance that he'll be dead within a year. There are a few others circling around Baker, but only two that seem to matter. One's called Rottie - that must be the Rottweiler that Eggsy mentioned. Rottie shares his boss' taste for nose candy, and possibly meth, given the state of his teeth. There's one other, a quiet man with a face like a ferret and sharp eyes. This must be the dreaded Pitbull. Unlike his boss or his fellow dogs, Pitbull neither drinks nor smokes and there's nothing about his face that suggests he does drugs, either. The man is constantly scanning the pub and a few times, Merlin feels the weight of that gaze on his back.

It's time to go. He rejoins Harry, who's chatting with a young man about Eggsy's age.

"Ryan here knows our mutual friend."

The boy nods nervously and offers Merlin a cigarette. Unlike Harry, who's leisurely puffing away, Merlin declines. "Eggsy's all right?"

Merlin nods.

"Good, good." Ryan scuffs his feet on the pavement.

"Ye might want to take off, lad. Go home for the night."

"Yeah - was thinking that. Hanging out at the Prince without Eggsy ain't much fun." 

Merlin blocks Ryan's path to the pub and watches as the lad turns and heads down the street in the other direction, disappearing into the darkness. 

Harry tosses the cigarette into the gutter. "Filthy things, but occasionally, I'll indulge."

"And ye'll gargle before I kiss ye again, that's for certain."

At that, Merlin takes out his phone and sends the all-important message to Dean Baker.

 _Boss its Poodle_  
_Found muggsy at a warehouse in battersea_  
_Litle punk dont look so good_

Merlin ends the text with the address for the warehouse.

Five minutes late, Dean and his mutts pour out of the pub and into a beaten up Subaru. That's Merlin's cue to head to Battersea.

A half-hour after that, there are four dead bodies on a dirty floor in a decaying warehouse, each with two neat bullet holes in their foreheads. 

As he takes the cellphones from each corpse and tosses them into a conveniently burning trashcan fire, Merlin feels nothing more than a sense of relief. 

Harry, however, looks like he's slightly ill.

 _Good_. 

"Let's go home."

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Merlin go back home to Eggsy.

Everything had gone far smoother than Harry thought they'd had a right to expect. There had been no hint of the filth, no nosy parkers around the warehouse - just them, waiting in the shadows. Baker never even got a chance to react - hell, _Harry_ barely had a chance to react - Merlin shot all of them quick as could be before they could open their mouths. They left the bodies there, Harry following Merlin back to the bike without a backwards glance when he said ‘let’s go home’. 

Home. Home sounded good. Home was where Eggsy was. It didn’t matter that it was actually Merlin’s house. Harry hadn’t been so comfortable in someone else’s home in recent memory. 

He hadn’t missed wetwork, for all that he’d been efficient and skilled at it, and he was more grateful to Merlin than he’d expected to be for shouldering the burden of it. He’d been ready to be the backup, but it hadn’t been needed. Tonight’s job had far-ranging benefits for people he liked (loved?) and thus Harry had suited up and been willing to do what was needed - and he was indeed relieved he hadn’t been needed to do anything but provide moral support. 

It was safe to say that yes, he loved Eggsy and not in just a kindly mentorship sort of way. He’d been denying it for far too long, and not only was that not fair to Harry, it wasn’t fair to Eggsy. Merlin had been the wild-card, the unexpected balance in the equation, but it all felt so incredibly right that the only thing to do was see where it would all lead - and he had several ideas about that; both long and short-term. 

Harry clung tightly to Merlin on the back of the Ducati, snug up against him as they wove through London’s streets. Their little mission had cooled his ardour somewhat, but being this close to Merlin again was reigniting his passion. The traffic wasn’t as busy as it had been earlier. He would regret the shorter total time on the bike for the trip back if it weren’t for what awaited them when they arrived back to the Kensington townhouse. The last 24 hours had thrown his life in to disarray on every level and Harry didn't regret it for one second but for the pain and worry Eggsy had gone through. How had he thought he’d been happy alone? He’d been content, certainly, but now with the possibilities looming before him he realized that he wanted so much more. There was so much he and Merlin could do for Eggsy - so much they could all do for each other. He felt more than heard Merlin’s laughter as he took them around a tight corner, leaning with him into the motion of the bike. He was going to have to get himself one now that he remembered what fun they were - but later. 

Before long they were pulling up in front of the townhouse, the roar of the bike breaking the quiet of the darkened street. He helped Merlin pull the cover over the bike and waited for him to disable the security system so they could get in. The house was quiet for the moment, although he could just hear the jingle of dog tags as Merlin locked up and reset the alarms. They went about getting their boots off and exchanging glances, although neither felt the need to speak and break the silence just yet. 

Mr Pickle was the first of the dogs to join them. Having picked up on the cue that silence was the idea, he waited until Harry had set his boots aside before dancing on his hind legs, asking to be picked up. Merlin snorted, shaking his head. “He’s spoiled.” 

“Yes, he is. He’s my darling boy and he’s incredibly spoiled,” Harry replied, crouching down to scoop the dog into his arms. He wasn’t even going to bother to argue with the truth. 

Merlin leaned in close, his lips at Harry’s ear. “Mmm. Am I going to have to curb yeh from doing the same to Eggsy?” 

Laughing, Harry turned his head and pressed a short kiss to Merlin’s lips. “Too late. I’ve already spoiled him within the limits of what I think I can get him to accept.” 

“Of course yeh have,” Merlin murmured, still close. “He said so himself. ‘Yes, Eggsy’ from yeh to counter my ‘No, Eggsy’ at every turn. Except now all I want to say to him is ‘yes, Eggsy.’ What have the two of yeh done to me?” 

“The real question is why did you let us do whatever it was?” Harry mused, kissing the top of Mr Pickle’s head before setting him down so he could go join Charlie and Flora who were slinking down the stairs. “I have to imagine Eggsy has been working his way under your skin for ages, the same as he has with me. But you and I have just met.” 

“Yet I feel I’ve known yeh my entire life,” Merlin said quietly, resting his forehead against Harry’s. “Are we mad to try this?” 

“Possibly. It doesn’t mean we’re wrong, though,” Harry reasoned, curling his hand around the back of Merlin’s neck, stroking along the cords of muscle with his thumb. “And I believe we promised our young man that we’d wake him with kisses when we returned. Shall we, or do you want to shower first?” 

Merlin groaned at that. “I haven’t had a good long shower in three days, just quick ones. Go on, go crawl in with our boy. I need a little time to decompress, I’ll see yeh both within an hour,” Merlin replied, giving Harry a chaste, lingering kiss. He turned to the dogs. “Charlie. Flora. Mr Pickle. Stay,” he said, pointing to the dog beds near the kitchen. 

Harry wasn’t sure how Mr Pickle would take that command, but he seemed content enough to follow his new friends, curling up next to Flora for the time being. Wonders, it seemed, would never cease. He followed Merlin up the stairs, parting from him at the bedroom. “Come back to us soon,” he entreated with a smile. 

Nodding, Merlin went off to the bath, leaving Harry standing in the doorway watching Eggsy sleep, curled up on his side. He looked so peaceful Harry almost hated to wake him, but considering what they’d just done Eggsy’s life was bound to be more peaceful from now on. They’d make sure of it. He went into the room and stripped off the leathers as quietly as he could and climbed into the bed in just his pants. Taking care not to jostle Eggsy in light of his injuries, he cuddled in behind him and kissed his neck and jaw softly, attempting to ease the younger man awake without startling him. 

“Mmm, ‘s nice,” Eggsy murmured, shifting onto his back so he could see who was in bed with him, a sleepy smile spreading across his face as he saw Harry in the moonlight from the window. “Everything okay, Haz?” His voice was raspy from sleep. 

“Everything’s fine, Eggsy. Just fine. Nothing for you to worry about now,” Harry assured him, brushing a wild lock of hair from his eyes. “Merlin’s taking a nice long shower, decompressing a bit. He’ll join us in a little while,” he explained, before Eggsy could ask. 

“Alright, so long as he actually does join us and not slink off ta the guest room,” Eggsy grumbled. “I’ll go drag him in here myself if I gotta.”

“Oh, I don’t think he’ll do that, darling. Disappointing you would be the last thing on his list at the moment.” 

“Yeah? Still not sure how I got so lucky. Been gone on both of ya for ages and ages. Didn’t think either of you would be interested, was just trying to get over it. And now I got both of ya and y’ took care of Dean and his dogs, too? Think somebody betta pinch me,” he teased. 

“I’ve been gone on you for just as long,” Harry confessed, “But I didn’t think you’d want a boring, fussy old man.” 

“Harry, you’re the furthest thing from boring. Or old. Fussy, well, yeah, y’are a bit.” Eggsy chided. “But you’re also brilliant, an’ kind, an’ yeah, a little absent-minded professor especially when you leave your phone on silent - but you’re always interested in what I have going on, you’ve always _seen_ me. Believed in me. Trusted me. Taken care of me. You bake my favorite biscuits an’ pack me a lunch half the time an’ help me find books for Dais’ an’ want ta see me even when the shop’s not open or ya don’t need me ta watch Mr Pickle. How could I _not_ fuckin’ love you?” 

Love him? Eggsy loved him? To his consternation, Harry found himself blinking back tears. He was glad it was mostly dark, although his inadvertent sniffle likely gave him away. “I love you to distraction,” he murmured.

Eggsy laughed softly, wrapping his arm around Harry’s waist, “Ta distraction, huh? Is that why ya get all flustered when I compliment ya or tease ya ‘bout somethin’?” 

“It’s why there’s far too many snowflakes hanging above the counter at the shop,” Harry muttered into Eggsy’s neck. “I can’t say no to you, it seems.” 

“Sounds like I need ta ask for more, then,” Eggsy mused. “Yeah, Harry. I’m gonna need more. Lots more kisses an’ hugs. Affection in general, yeah? Like, way, way mor-” 

Harry laughed and kissed him firmly, cutting him off. “Yes. Yes. Yes, Eggsy,” he murmured between kisses. “All that and more.” 

“Fuckin’ aces,” Eggsy murmured, slipping his fingers into Harry’s hair and tugging him closer.

Harry happily gave himself over to making a good start on Eggsy getting all that affection he had been missing, all the kisses he wanted and needed at the moment. He was careful of Eggsy’s injuries, but otherwise just gave himself over to the sweet abandon of unhurried kisses with no agenda, learning what Eggsy liked and what made him respond in different ways.

By the time Merlin joined them, sitting on the bed on Eggsy’s other side, they were back to lazy smooches between talking about everything and nothing, including how very fit Merlin was and the difference between his kissing style and each of theirs.

“Merls. Good. I was afraid I was gonna hafta pout at you,” Eggsy said, grinning at him in the dark. “But Harry said you’d be along. I guess he was right.” 

“Aye? Yeh think I’d pass this up?” Merlin asked, gesturing to the both of them. 

“Nah. Thought ya might try to be all noble or some shit but I think ya know how much we both want ya, right Harry?” 

“Undoubtedly,” Harry agreed. “But Merlin, I really must insist you take a turn at giving Eggsy the affection and kisses he so needs and richly deserves.” 

“He does, at that. He’s been incredibly brave and helpful; he deserves to celebrate his new-found freedom. And what about yeh, Harry? Don’t yeh need affection and kisses as well?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

That eyebrow was far sexier than it had a right to be. Harry was fairly sure he could compose entire sonnets about Merlin’s fucking raised eyebrow. 

“Oh, I do. I plan on absolutely smothering the both of you with all the various shows of affection you’ll let me get away with. But we’ve been discussing differences in kissing style, you see, and I believe it’s time to move on the empirical research phase. I think you should start with Eggsy so the comparison is fresh in his mind, as it were.” 

“Nope. Nuh-uh. He should start with you, Harry,” Eggsy stated. “Because that’s gonna be hot as hell, and I wanna see it.” 

“Abusing yer power of anti-denial now, are yeh?” Merlin snarked.

Eggsy giggled, nodding. “You don’t _really_ wanna say no to me about that, do you, Merlin? Harry?” 

Harry mock scowled at Eggsy as another surge of affection for him welled up. Affection was a word that was being thrown around a lot by him at the moment, but Harry couldn’t help it. Moreover, he didn’t want to help it. His heart was full and he was so delighted with the both of them. This sort of teasing, good-natured pillow talk hadn’t been a regular fixture in most of his previous relationships, and it was marvelous that they were falling into it so easily. It remained to be seen how this would all work out, but God, he had hope the other two would be as willing as he was to do the work necessary. 

“He makes a compelling argument,” Harry offered, sitting up. 

“That wasn’t an argument at all; it was puppy eyes an’ wheedling,” Merlin pointed out, but leaned in closer to Harry anyway. “But yeh don’t see me saying no, do yeh?” 

“No, I don’t,” Harry murmured, and closed the gap between them. He didn’t bother to hold back. The quick kisses he’d shared with Merlin in the interim between last night in the kitchen and now had been barely enough to tide him over once he’d gotten that taste of what they could create between them. He grasped Merlin’s shoulder with one hand, the other sliding to the back of his neck like he’d done earlier downstairs and kissed him with everything he had been holding back since the night before. Harry knew this should be a flash fire, all heat and no substance, but it felt as real and slow-simmering as when he’d been kissing Eggsy just a few moments earlier. It was so new, he didn’t think it should feel so... comfortable. There was still urgency and desire, yes, but not the sort that he’d qualify as ‘take this now, because it won’t be offered again’. No, Merlin’s kiss was a heady promise of things to come. 

Eggsy watched hungrily, propping himself up on his elbows as he spoke. “Fuck. Me. I was right. You two kissin’ is the fuckin’ hottest thing I ever seen.” 

“Not until those cuts heal,” Merlin replied, pulling back from Harry to catch his breath. “But then, aye. Right through the damn mattress.” 

“ _Yes_ , Merlin!” Eggsy exclaimed, lying back down amongst the pillows. 

“Ah, yes. Probably wise, my dear boy. But if you’ll promise to stay very still, I’d love to get my mouth on you while Merlin fucks me, instead,” Harry suggested. 

Eggsy and Merlin looked at each other, smirking. “Yes, Harry,” they chorused. 

God, he adored them both. It was too soon to say if he loved Merlin or not. But he was already stupidly fond of him and Harry felt that boded well for the future. 

Merlin gave Harry one more quick kiss and all but descended on Eggsy, apparently having decided that now was the time for comparisons. Harry watched, his hand still anchored to the back of Merlin’s neck. He had to concur with Eggsy - watching two other people you liked kiss right in front of you was ‘fucking hot’. Eggsy whined, and Harry could see him attempting to rub up against Merlin, but the other man had him fairly well pinned. He let go of Merlin’s neck and put his hand on Eggsy’s chest instead, a silent reminder to stop moving. 

“What did Harry say? Be still,” Merlin murmured, as he laid a teasing line of nips and kisses down Eggsy’s jaw. 

“Yes, sir,” Eggsy murmured, tilting his head to the side to look at Harry. “‘M bein’ good, swear down.” 

“Of course you are, darling. You’re going to be so very good for us. With us.” He met Merlin’s eyes, seeing his own surprised, pleased expression mirrored back at him. Neither had missed the way Eggsy had addressed Merlin. Something to explore later, after suitable discussions were had. He didn’t want to take the time for them now, and he didn’t think the other two did either. 

“Y’ two are plottin’ somethin. I can tell.” 

Merlin huffed. “Maybe we are, lad. We’ll let yeh in on it when yeh need to know,” he teased. 

Eggsy winked at him. “I know. I trust ya. But maybe ya could get on with whatever we’re doin’ right now? I don’t think ya know how long I been dreamin’ of this with either one of ya. Havin’ ya both is short-circutin’ my brain a little bit, yeah?” 

“I know exactly how you feel, Eggsy,” said Harry. 

“I’m no gonna state the obvious,” Merlin grumbled, shifting off to the side to retrieve supplies from his bedside table. “But if yeh both are too short-circuited to think, it helps if yeh take yer pants off.” 

“Is he always like this?” Harry asked Eggsy, as he shimmied out of his boxers, tossing them aside. “Sly with the humor?”

Eggsy nodded, eyes wide as he shucked his own pants off. “He’s awful. Puns. Puns for _days_ , Haz.” 

Harry had a reply, but it escaped him as Eggsy moved and he was treated to the sight of him completely bare. “Absolutely gorgeous. Jesus, Eggsy. Freerunning makes a body like that? Your thighs would make angels weep.” 

“It’s all the jumping, I reckon - but I also do squats. And yoga. And lift heavy boxes at the shop - but seeing you, you could be doing that yourself! You like my thighs, you should see my arse.” 

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing a great deal of it once yer stomach is all healed since I’m reasonably sure yer an absolute _tart_ ,” Merlin quipped, dropping the bottle of lube and a handful of condoms on his towel he’d discarded. 

Eggsy smirked. “Naked yoga, Merlin. And yeah, I am a tart for the two of ya. Gonna take the both of ya to tire me out once I’m back to normal. Hope ya can handle it.” 

Mock scowling, Harry turned to Merlin. “I think he just called us old, Merlin. Are we going to let him get away with being such a cheeky little shit?” 

“Might need to start adding up the spankings we’ll owe him in a couple of’ weeks,” Merlin replied, pulling Harry close to kiss him again. “But fer now, I think we can let it slide. He’s injured, after all. At our mercy. Has to just lie there and be good while I’m busy making yeh scream. D’ yeh think you can even concentrate on his pretty cock while I’m inside yeh?” 

Oh, Harry would try. And even if he failed, it’d be worth it. “I’m going to give it my best effort,” he assured Merlin. 

Groaning, Eggsy grabbed hold of Harry’s arm. “You two are gonna kill me. Talkin’ and lookin’ like that, like ya just stepped out of a really good porno. Oh no, spankings, like. Don’t threaten me with a good time, _sirs_.”

“Nae, yeh can’t call us both that. Too confusing, lad. Names for tonight. We’ll talk about it later,” Merlin promised. 

“Yeah, Merlin, all right. But don’t think I’m gonna forget.” 

Deciding there was only one response to that, Harry kissed Merlin once more, then slid his hands up Eggsy’s thighs. Merlin moved to the side as Harry bent down and took Eggsy into his mouth, the sound of the younger man’s gasp music to his ears. It’d been years since he’d had this privilege. The taste of him, the weight on his tongue, all of it flooding his senses. He unabashedly moaned around Eggsy’s cock, sure he could be just as much of a tart as Eggsy, if not more so. He glanced up and caught Merlin’s eye and got a slow, wicked smile for his efforts. 

Harry’s reaction to the sound of the lube cap popping open could be considered Pavlovian. He didn’t drool any more than he was already with a cock in his mouth, but his entire posture shifted. He spread his knees further apart, angled his arse up higher, possibly (definitely) wiggled it. It had been so long since he’d been with a lover he felt right being playful with. There was no way he wasn’t going to take advantage of that. 

“Oh, so yer a tart too, Harry. The pair of yeh are awful,” Merlin lamented, but to Harry’s mind, he didn’t sound at all disappointed. Exasperatedly amused was what Harry would name that particular tone, but then Merlin’s slick fingers were rubbing at his hole and higher-order thoughts went promptly out of his head to be replaced with moans and sensation and _want_. He pushed back against Merlin’s fingers, wordlessly demanding more. 

“Harry looks pretty with your cock in his mouth, Eggsy,” Merlin said, as he worked Harry open with plenty of slick. 

“Fuck yes, Merlin,” Eggsy agreed, pushing Harry’s hair out of his face and taking in his blissed-out expression. “An’ he’s amazin’ with his mouth, too. I think he likes bein’ in the middle.” 

Harry hummed in agreement, but if Eggsy could still form coherent sentences he clearly wasn’t doing his best work - so swallowed Eggsy’s cock down to the root, making the younger man cry out, arching is hips.

“Be still like you were told, Eggsy, or I’ll tie you to the bed and fuck Harry just far enough away from you that he can’t get anything in his mouth but the tip of your cock,” Merlin said, stern. “I won’t have you opening those wounds, they’re barely scabbed over.” 

Eggsy whined, making the effort to not thrash about. “Shit. Yes, Merlin. Sorry, it just feels amazin’. You’ll find out, yeah?” 

Harry came up for a breath and winked at Eggsy. “Oh, he’ll find out as soon as he’d like to,” he assured him, and braced his forearm over Eggsy’s hips to help keep him still, earning a whine.

“Right now what I’d like to find out is the precise noise yeh’ll make around our boy as I stuff yeh full at the other end,” Merlin growled, working a third finger into him with another drizzle of lube. The noises were obscenity itself. Harry shivered in sweet anticipation, rocking back against Merlin’s fingers.

It had been a few years since the last time he’d bothered to attempt dating or even just a physical relationship, and now that the floodgates had been opened he wanted everything and he wanted it NOW. He uttered a quiet noise of agreement and went back down on Eggsy, lapping up the precum beading at the head of his cock, savouring the salty slickness. 

Eggsy’s hands tightened in his hair, tugging at it as he moaned. It was all too easy for Harry to lose himself sucking cock, he loved everything about it from the taste to the noises he could wring from his partner. He wasn’t quite in that meditative state at the moment, too busy dividing his attention between what he was doing to Eggsy with his mouth and what Merlin was doing to him with his incredibly talented fingers. 

“I’ve got four in yeh right now, Harry,” Merlin said, a tinge of awe in his voice. “I think yeh could take more, but I need to be in yeh.” 

Harry reached out to the side, blindly grabbing a condom and holding it up to Merlin like a supplicant’s offering as he pulled off of Eggsy long enough to say, “Please!” 

It was a blur from there. Harry wasn’t sure he’d be able to recount the exact order of events, but the noise he made as Merlin pushed into him was somewhere between a groan and a sigh, like the universe had just slotted properly into place and everything was aligned harmoniously - and in Harry’s universe, it was. 

Eggsy started babbling about being close, and Harry just took him all the way in again, swallowing his release with a contented hum as Merlin grasped his hips and thrust into him over and over. Taking the chance on moving now that Merlin and Harry were both distracted (and that he’d already come straight down Harry’s throat), Eggsy slicked up his hand and slid down the bed, wrapping it around Harry’s cock. The unexpected touch was enough to tip him over the edge and Merlin wasn’t far behind him. 

In a few minutes, perhaps someone would go and fetch a warm flannel, but for the moment, Harry simply reveled in being surrounded by his remarkable lovers in a warm, albeit sticky pile.


	10. Chapter 10

**One Year Later**

Merlin has been waiting in an unused floor of Dubai office tower for the better part of six days, waiting for the exactly right moment to do his job. Right now, at this moment, the wind is perfectly still, there's a rare haze covering the usually blue Arabian Gulf sky, and his mark has finally made an appearance.

Fortunately for Merlin, Stefan Radjék has made himself into a perfect target in his Baltic blue suit, distinguishing himself from his Arab colleagues wearing the customary white _kandoorah_. The idiot stops to put on his sunglasses, exposing the most vulnerable parts of his body, and Merlin takes his shot.

One bullet and Merlin's work is done.

He dismantles and packs up his rifle, sprays down the floor and walls with bleach, dons a white _keffiyah_ and a black _iqal_ to go with his own _kandoorah_ , and leaves. Despite the case he's carrying, Merlin blends in, and no one gives him a second glance as they enter and exit the elevator. He hears the sound of ambulances as he heads towards the car park and the ubiquitous black Mercedes waiting for him.

An hour later, the Mercedes is abandoned alongside a thousand others similar cars in one of the Dubai airport's vast parking lots, and Merlin is heading for a private terminal. There's a jet waiting to take him home.

_Home._

Merlin lets out a sigh of satisfaction at the thought. Home means something different these days. It's not just a place to rest his head until the next opportunity come his way. Home is Harry. Home is Eggsy. Home is four dogs, good books, great food, and love.

It takes about a half-hour for the small jet to reach international airspace, but when it does, Merlin opens up a secure channel with his client.

 _"It's done?_ Olivia Mansfield is as terse as ever.

"Yes, ma'am." Merlin allows himself a small smile. If the head of MI-6 ever learns that he knows her real name, he'll be as dead as Stefan Radjék within a day.

_"Are you certain that this is your last job? Is there anything I can offer that will make you change your mind?"_

"No, ma'am. As of today, I am officially retired." The story he's given to MI-5 and MI-6, his two best clients, that his hands and eyesight are not what they used to be, is an acceptable lie.

_"And we can't change your mind?"_

"I'd prefer to leave the field when I'm at the top of my game. And I don't think ye want to hire a consultant who can't do the job ye hire him for."

 _"Very well, then. You have my thanks for your services."_ The connection closes and Merlin lets out a small sigh. Olivia Mansfield might be excessively acerbic and brutally cut-throat, but she is trustworthy. Merlin doesn't worry that someone will come after him to ensure that he keeps quiet. Which is not to say that he doesn't have multiple fail safes in place in case someone decides to be stupid, and the head of MI-6 knows it.

_Nothing like mutually assured destruction._

Merlin doesn't call home. He's not normally a superstitious man, but it's become something of a habit not to reach out to his family until he's back on English soil. 

At least this will be the very last time he does this. Making the decision to retire hadn't been an easy one; Merlin had long since accepted his morally gray career and had always taken satisfaction from a job well done. Perhaps part of his self-justification had been grounded in the fact that he's worked exclusively for democratically elected governments - his own, primarily. When he'd been alone, with just the dogs to keep the home fires burning, that he killed for a living hadn't seem to matter.

But now it does.

Harry had seen what he was, right from the beginning, perhaps because he man himself had been employed in a similar fashion. Eggsy, though, hadn't known and if fate and a sadistic bastard hadn't intervened, it's likely he never would have. Or so Merlin had thought.

But Merlin hadn't been able to find it within him to keep his profession a secret once the three of them began building a life together. Perhaps if Harry hadn't know, he might have; it just seemed unfair for the two of them to keep such an important secret.

In early February, Harry Pearce had called with a job that needed Merlin's special skills. Usually MI-5 - read domestic - assignments could be quickly handled without the need for too many nights away from his own bed. But this one had been unusual and it might keep Merlin away from home for several weeks. He could have turned Pearce's offer down, but he owned MI-5 a favor. When he'd disposed of Dean and his gang, MI-5 had swept in and cleaned up the bodies Merlin had left behind, feeding Scotland Yard a very plausible lie. Poodle, the only survivor of Dean's gang, had the sense to keep him mouth shut, at least until he'd gotten shanked in lockup over last piece of Christmas pudding.

The evening before Merlin heading over the Irish Sea for the job, he'd told Eggsy the truth.

Eggsy had looked at him like he was nuts. "You don't think I hadn't figured out what you do?"

Shocked, Merlin had looked over at Harry, wondering if he'd said anything to Eggsy. Harry had looked equally surprised.

Eggsy just shrugged. "Come on, guys. You took out Dean and his mutts and there wasn't even a mention of anything in the news. Only the government or a professional hitter could manage something like that. A professional hitter with the right connections in the government."

"Does it bother ye? That I kill people for a living?"

"I was almost a Marine. Would have been doing the same thing, for a lot less money. So, no. I mean, it's not great that you do what you do, but not what you are. And from where I'm sitting, I shouldn't complain. You killed people to save my life."

That had been the first and last time they'd talked about Merlin's profession. It had also helped Merlin realize that i was time to retire. When he'd gotten back from Ulster, he'd told Pearce that he considered their ledger fully tallied up and balanced out. Pearce hadn't even tried to talk him out of it, but he had offered Merlin a chance to work inside the Grid as a trainer.

Merlin had politely declined. Or rather, he'd told Harry Pearce to go fuck himself and Pearce had responded with an equally colorful suggestion.

Unfortunately, Merlin can't bring himself to tell Olivia Mansfield to stick it where the sun doesn't shine, and given their long association, it had been more expedient to accept a few more jobs before telling her that he was hanging up his gun for good. It had also been quite difficult to turn down the money. There really is nothing quite like government work.

But Merlin doesn't actually needs the money, and more importantly, he won't miss bing a hired assassin. Not with Harry and Eggsy in his life and his bed. Which is why he'd told then both, over dinner the evening before he'd left for Dubai, that this would be his last job. Neither Harry nor Eggsy had commented, but Merlin could read the relief in both men's eyes.

He checks the time, it's a little after eight PM and still about seven hours to London. If his calculations are correct, he'll land in London around midnight, since the smaller jet doesn't have the same air speed as big commercial plane. Which means it'll be about one by the time he gets to the Docklands building to drop off his equipment, and maybe two AM by the time he walks in the door. 

Merlin lowers the lights in the cabin, alerts the single crew member not to disturb him until they are on final approach into London City Airport, and closes his eyes. Sleep comes easily.

Six hours later, the flight attendant wakes him by turning up the lights and offers first a hot towel and then coffee and a light breakfast. 

Merlin's calculations are a little off. Despite the late hour, air traffic around London City Airport delays the landing by almost forty minutes, and an insufficiency of customs inspectors keeps Merlin on the jet for nearly another hour, so it's close to three AM by the time Merlin pulls into the Docklands facility. 

There is no way he's calling him and waking his lovers, and for a moment, Merlin considers sacking out on the couch until dawn. But he wants to be home and with the people he loves.

As a concession to the hour and the chill in the air - it feels a lot colder than it actually is, two weeks in Dubai has played havoc with his internal thermostat - Merlin leaves the Ducati behind and drives the sedan back to Kensington.

_Home_

As he lets himself in, Merlin lets out a deep sigh of satisfaction. His traveling days are done. Unless he wants to, he never has to leave London again. The sound of toenails on the floor greet Merlin as four pair of eyes emerge from the darkness. Flora and Charlie, of course, plus Harry's little rat dog, Mr. Pickle, and the latest addition to their household, JB.

Merlin smiles at a memory… 

"Happy birthday, Eggsy. We thought it was time ye had your own beast to look after ye." He and Harry had picked out the wee doggie from a rescue shelter a few days before.

"Guys, how did you even know it's my birthday?"

"We work in mysterious ways." Harry had tried to sound like he was Boris Karloff from an old monster movie.

Merlin, though, had been far more pragmatic. "I looked at yer driver's license, silly."

Eggsy hugged them both before opening the crate and gently taking out a small black and tan puppy. "It's a bulldog, isn't it?"

Harry had rolled his eyes before gently correcting Eggsy. "A pug, and he probably won't get much bigger that Mr. Pickle."

That didn't seem to bother Eggsy, although it had taken Eggsy a few days to come up with a name. "JB - for Jack Bauer, the super spy." 

Harry had been a bit appalled, but Merlin had thought it was rather funny. "Don't complain. You named your own wee beastie after a condiment."

The dogs have a varied pecking order - Charlie and Flora, although the most senior canine residents of the house, usually defer to Pickle on the choice of toys and sleeping arrangements. Merlin had nearly laughed himself into a hernia when he's seen the little rat dog evict Charlie from one of the big dog beds and take possession for himself. JB, as the youngest, gets the most leeway, and can often be found sleeping with Flora.

But in matters of security, Charlie and Flora take the lead. Pickle often tries to insert himself into the conversation, but JB wisely hangs back, waiting to see of the stranger has brought food.

Now, the four dogs simply welcome Merlin home. He leads them back to the kitchen, gets them settled down and helps himself to some water before heading upstairs, to the two people he's been longing for.

There's just enough light that Merlin can see that Harry and Eggsy are fast asleep in their usual positions. Harry, of course, is the big spoon, and their resident octopus and he has Eggsy wrapped up tightly. Merlin takes a deep breath - the bedroom smells of healthy men and sex. If he isn't so tired, he'd feel a bit jealous.

"Merls, is that you?" Eggsy frees himself from Harry's embrace and sits up.

Merlin could be snarky, but he's just too happy to be home. "Yeah, go back to sleep."

"What time is it?"

"Far too early to be having this conversation." Merlin pulls off his sweater and vest, getting a whiff of strong body odor. He should shower before getting into bed.

Harry, who's now awake, and apparently a mind reader. "Don't even think about showering. Get out of your clothes and get your fine ass into bed."

"I guess you missed me?" Merlin strips out of the rest of his clothes and doesn't bother looking for sleepwear.

"You could say, Merls. Haz has been moping for days. Every few hours, he's asking 'Do you think Merlin will be home soon?' Or, 'I don't know what we'll do if Merlin's not home for Christmas'. He's been a glum bunny since you left. Only thing that gets him going is the promise of a good blowie. Did you know you're living with a sex pest?"

Merlin leans down and kisses Eggsy. He tastes like Harry. And when he kisses Harry, Harry tastes like Eggsy. It's all rather perfect.

"Get into bed, love." Harry pulls him into bed. Merlin finds his space next to Eggsy and Harry's long arms reach out for him. "Eggsy's not wrong. I've missed you far too much."

"Me, too." Eggsy nuzzles at Merlin's throat. "Not just this, but everything. It's not the same when you're not here."

Happiness bubbles through Merlin's veins like the finest Champagne. "It's good to be home. I've missed you, too. Every single moment."

"And you're not leaving, ever again, right?" Eggsy sounds defiant, his words are not a question but a demand.

Merlin kisses Eggsy again, and then Harry. "No, I'm never leaving you behind again."

__

FIN

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Voxangelus for coming on this journey with me, and to the awesome mods for the Kingsman Fic Wars. This has been a total blast.
> 
> And another big thank you to all the readers who commented, left kudos, or simply spent a few happy hours following this story.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [On the House](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16531817) by [zebraljb](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zebraljb/pseuds/zebraljb)




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